


So Darned Sorry

by Qrimson



Series: Marauders Mystery Tour [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First War with Voldemort, Friendship, Gen, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Mischief Managed, References to the Beatles, Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew Friendship, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin Friendship, Wizard Angst, also teenage werewolf drama this time, but still mostly canon for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 05:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 92,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qrimson/pseuds/Qrimson
Summary: Friendship isn’t supposed to be this hard.But as James, Sirius, Remus and Peter start their second year at Hogwarts, they find themselves tackling one crisis after another: Furry little problems. Secret Invisibility Cloaks. The impending wedding of Bellatrix Black. And whatever Peter’s dad is doing every time he leaves the country on business…The big question is this: How many times can four friends accept each other’s apologies before it’s time to walk away?





	1. It Won't Be Long

**Author's Note:**

> When I have to say I’m ’so darned sorry,’ it’s usually to [chchchchcherrybomb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chchchchcherrybomb/pseuds/chchchchcherrybomb) \-- once again, my beta, and always my best friend. Thanks for teaching me the right way to make an apology, and staying by my side through every single one.
> 
> Canon-divergence and butterfly effects continue to make waves, though you shouldn’t expect much alteration from Rowling’s canon yet.
> 
> “All of us on the show are so darned sorry, and sincerely sorry, that this is the third and thus our last current show with The Beatles… these fine youngsters will leave an imprint on everyone over here who’s met them.” — Ed Sullivan, taping of the Beatles' American debut, Feb. 1964

“I’m telling you, Sirius, we’re both in. You were bloody great out there.”

James ran his hands through his hair, trying to mold the sweaty mess into some sort of shape, as he and Sirius climbed back up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. They’d come from Quidditch tryouts, down on the pitch, and it was the hottest day since they’d arrived back at Hogwarts two weeks ago. One fourth-year girl had even fainted, though whether that was from the heat or a delayed response to a particularly bad Bludger-blow was still in question.

“I mean, that’s nice of you to say, James, but you’re full of dragon dung.” Sirius looked grim. He’d grown out his hair a bit over the summer, but the heat had made it limp, and it clung to his neck like an army of snakes. He’d spent half the walk back ranting that he was going to use a Severing Charm on it as soon as he got upstairs, even if he had to cut his own throat in the process.

“You’re the only one who never got hit with a Bludger,” James protested, “and—”

“That might be true,” Sirius interrupted. “But I was also the only one in our group who didn’t score. Not once. Gideon Prewett is not going to want a Chaser who can’t score, no matter how good at dodging Bludgers they are.”

“Well, maybe you can be the team’s Seeker. I know Gideon isn’t looking for one, but you probably impressed him with that speed of yours.”

James was lying, of course. And Sirius didn’t even consider playing along.

“Isaac Langley spent three months in the hospital wing last year re-learning how to count,” Sirius said, as they approached the Fat Lady. “And he could still fly circles around me any day of the week.”

“Well—”

“James. It’s fine. I came down, I tried out, I’m clearly not Quidditch material. Stop worrying about me so much. You be the Quidditch star. Remus, Peter, and me can be your cheering squad.”

“And some of the girls, right?” James said. “There’s got to be at least one girl cheering for me or I’m gonna be the laughing stock of the castle.”

“Sure,” Sirius allowed. “Not Quickley and Dawlish, though; they’re bloody daft. And Evans isn’t not allowed until she dumps that greasy friend of hers.”

“Oh,” James said. He’d been hoping for Lily. “I thought you two buried the hatchet at the start-of-term feast.”

“Jobberknoll,” Sirius said to the portrait, who smiled and swung open on her hinges. “And not really,” he continued. “It was nice to chat, I guess, but then as soon as the feast was over she ditched all of us to go talk to Snivellus. Hasn’t seen any of us all summer and that slimy git is still her priority.”

“Right,” James said, absentmindedly. Maybe if Sirius and Remus got Beatrix and Mary to join them, Lily would come along anyway…

As he and Sirius stepped through the portrait hole, James suddenly realized there were an awful lot of students crowded into the common room, huddled in corners and whispering. Crying too, he realized with a jolt — almost all of the girls, and the boys looked sick.

“Bloody hell,” he said, reaching out an arm to stop Sirius. “What’s going on?”

“Beats me,” Sirius said, scanning the room. “Remus’ll know.”

He pointed across the room at Lupin, who was sitting at a small table, tearing a piece of parchment into tiny bits and nodding at whatever a pale-faced Peter was saying to him.

He and Sirius cut straight through the mass of students, getting a few dirty looks from the older ones as they passed by. James only caught a few words here and there —

“Last night.”

“Aurors.”

“Fire.”

“Warning.”

“Murder.”

“Thank god you’re here!” Peter shouted as he saw them approach. “We were going to come down to the pitch and get you. Well, okay, I was. Remus didn’t want to. He said it was dumb.”

“It was dumb.” It looked like January on the table in front of Remus, or the aftermath of a very sad party. The scrap of paper he was currently shredding into confetti wasn’t his first. “We only found out like 20 minutes ago.”

“Found out what?” James said, hurrying to sit down and lean in close. “Obviously everyone knows except us.”

Neither Remus nor Peter seemed to want to answer. But Remus was finally the one who did. “There’s been another attack.”

“The Death Eaters?” That didn’t really surprise James. The renegade group of wizards and witches had been lashing out at Muggles all summer — or at least that was what he had picked up from his parents, who were finally either worried or lax enough to talk about it when he was around.

James knew enough not to ask directly about the Death Eaters — acknowledging his interest in something usually made his parents clam right up — but he had listened out of idle curiosity without looking too attentive. He’d already known that the group, led by some maniac who called himself “Voldemort,” had been operating since before he’d come to Hogwarts, and that the Ministry was “at war” with them — but as far as he could tell, there was no such war happening.

Or, at least, it had never gotten big enough to notice. Not until this summer. Now he was seeing articles on the front page of the _Prophet_ before his dad could snatch it away, and he was catching his parents sneaking off to a remote corner of the house to fret about it at least every other week.

Peter nodded, like his head was going to pop off. James felt his whole body relax. “I mean, that’s sad,” he whispered, “but it doesn’t really explain why the whole of Gryffindor House is acting weird like this about a few Muggles.”

“That’s just it,” Remus said. “It’s not a few Muggles. It’s wizards. Julie Queshire’s entire family was executed in Cokeworth last night.”

James couldn’t breathe. Next to him, he heard Sirius gasp, “Holy shite.” But he barely even heard him over his own heartbeat.

Julie Queshire was one of them. A fourth-year Gryffindor with long brown hair who always seemed to be in the common room, putting off studying. James knew she had an older brother who graduated from Ravenclaw last year, Hayden, because she had always been complaining about how good he was doing in all his NEWT classes. Just last weekend, he’d heard her telling Martha Church she was glad to be the only one of them at Hogwarts this year, so her mum would stop comparing the two of them. Then they’d taken turns folding paper into animal shapes, and Banishing them back and forth across the room.

And now her family was dead? Murdered?

“T-that’s not possible,” Sirius stammered. “The Queshires…they’re one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain. The Death Eaters are against Muggles, not against us.”

Remus’s lips tightened into a sharp white line. “Pureblood or not,” he said. “they’re dead. All of them. Her parents, her brother, and one or two other wizards who had the misfortune of visiting them yesterday.”

“At least that’s what we’ve heard,” Peter added. “I guess McGonagall sent Fabian and Sarina to bring Julie to her office earlier today. They thought it was just normal prefect fetch-and-grab but then they heard her screaming and crying behind the door. And then…well, you know how the rumor mill is here.”

“That’s horrible,” James finally said. “Her whole family. Gone.”

He and the others sat there, silently. James’s thoughts were on his parents, lying flat on their backs in the family manor, bodies charred by some Dark spell. And him, standing there, looking down on them, helpless.

“Is that all we know?” he asked, after a few minutes. “Nothing in the _Prophet_?”

“Maybe it’ll be in the Sunday edition tomorrow,” Remus said. “But I heard Angie Trelawney and Blake Wilson poring over her copy cover-to-cover earlier. Nothing yet.”

“Why?” Sirius said, still stunned. “This is the first time the Death Eaters have attacked anyone but Muggles. Why would they change their strategy now?”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Peter said. “Or maybe the Queshires said something a Death Eater just didn’t like.”

“Or maybe they’re finally done toying with Muggles and they want people to pay attention.” There was a hard edge in Remus’s voice. “Haven’t you all been following the same news this summer as me? This isn’t just a bunch of disgruntled rejects anymore. They’re like the IRA now. Militant. Underground.”

“The what?” Sirius asked.

“Seriously?”

“Whatever they are,” James interjected, before Sirius and Remus started properly bickering, “they can’t get us here at Hogwarts. And now that they’ve done this…awful thing…the Ministry won’t let it just keep happening. Right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Besides, we have the best secret hiding spot in Hogwarts, remember? Even if they do show up here, we could just go hide in the Cavern.”

“They wouldn’t show up here,” Sirius said, testily. “Their objective is to overturn the Ministry and gain power. There’s no benefit to them in attacking Hogwarts.”

“We don’t know that,” Remus said. “We don’t know anything. Even if they weren’t a complete mystery even to most of the Ministry, we’re stuck here. The only information we get about the war is thirdhand at best, things other students have overheard or tidbits plucked out of the _Prophet.”_

“We need to get information from the source,” James muttered to himself, a thought occurring to him. A student’s family had been killed, and the news came straight from one of the professors. So the best way to learn more would be to see what that professor said to her colleagues…and there was something in his trunk that would be extremely helpful in that endeavor.

* * *

James should have felt worse about this. But he’d stopped feeling guilty about his secret Invisibility Cloak months ago.

He’d weighed the pros and cons of telling the other boys about it for two weeks after Christmas, hiding it in the back of his wardrobe the whole time so they wouldn’t find it. An ironic problem for an Invisibility Cloak, he supposed.

But the more he thought about it, the less it made sense. He’d only known Sirius, Remus and Peter for a few months. His father had sent it in secret, instructed him to open it in secret. It made sense to keep it that way.

Besides, he’d said to be irresponsible.

So one cold January night, after everyone was in bed, he’d pulled the cloak out from under his pillow, draped it over his body, and crept out of the dorm for the first of many trips.

The Invisibility Cloak was clearly designed for an adult. When James wore it the way it was meant to be, tied at his throat, it dragged on the floor for a foot or more. Instead, he went out with the whole thing draped over his head, like he was hiding under a tablecloth. It felt silly at first — but, of course, all it took was a glance in the mirror to remind him that no one could see how silly he looked.

He went out once every week or so, after that. Mostly at night — especially when he was first exploring — but as he got braver he began lurking around the castle during the day too. Daytime trips were actually better, in many ways. He wasn’t exhausted the next day, for one, and he didn’t have to worry about the dual problems of waking the other boys — if they were all upstairs — or blowing them off, if they were headed to Peter’s hidey-hole.

But the best thing of all was listening to everyone else.

It was astounding, the things people would say or do when they thought no one was around. Last term, he came across no less than five couples snogging someone other than their usual boyfriends and girlfriends, including Tom Gallagher again — Invisibility Cloak or not, he’d skedaddled out of that particular situation quickly on instinct alone. He felt bad for Nicholas Bulstrode, though; he’d seen him with Tom again a few weeks later as if nothing had happened.

One of his first trips, after testing out the Cloak in the Gryffindor common room, had been to go back down to the Slytherin dungeons, and wait by the entrance. He hadn’t dared go in — too risky, even if he was completely concealed — but he’d overheard that just about every graduating seventh year was heading out to join the Death Eaters in the summer, even that wanker Percival Cain, who’d gotten and turned down an offer from the Caerphilly Catapults.

Without even trying, just wandering around the castle, he’d overheard conversations he should have been nowhere near. Tales of family strife and broken hearts and good news and successes and failures and secrets.

And today, he was going to the staff room for more.

He hadn’t used the Invisibility Cloak since getting back to Hogwarts, but sneaking into their professor’s hidden sanctum was a fitting adventure to kick off his second year. He’d actually seen a bit of the staff room once before — he’d walked partway into the room in his third week, thinking it was a toilet. The sudden appearance of Professor McGonagall had certainly clarified that mistake quickly.

This time around, he was hoping she’d be there. McGonagall was their head of house and deputy headmistress. If anyone knew what had happened to the Queshires, it would be her.

His hope was not to be, it seemed. James had caught a lucky break on the way in — Professor Sprout was hurrying the same direction as him, and he was able to slip in by catching the door behind her with his shoulder before it closed all the way — but McGonagall was nowhere to be seen in the small square room.

Almost every other professor was there, though. Two square tables had been pushed together across the room, with O’Brien and Slughorn seeming to hold court at opposite ends. Between them was practically the whole teaching staff, many of whom James didn’t properly recognize. It was easier to see which teachers were absent: McGonagall, their astronomy professor Apollo Sargas, Professor Binns — though if the ghost had showed up, James probably would have fainted with surprise on the spot.

Most of the professors had serious, solemn looks on their faces, befitting the moment. The exception, pale and quivering, was Professor Lexington, their worthless Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.

Lexington had come to Hogwarts after the winter holidays last year, replacing Professor Brocken — the only real casualty of the Warbling Cough outbreak.

James had never heard more than a garbled version of the truth as to why she never returned to Hogwarts, even after he’d started sneaking through corridors with the Invisibility Cloak over his head. The most he knew was that she’d gotten sick. _Very_ sick.

But beyond that was hazy. The truth was somewhere between Brocken being so outraged at Hogwarts’ lack of immunization policies that she quit, or Brocken hacking up a petrel so large it tore her throat in half on the way out — but if anyone knew they weren’t talking. And potentially neither was Brocken, he supposed.

Lexington had replaced her, and he’d seemed like a relief at first. Brocken had been so intense, it was nice to have someone like Lexington running the class. Lexington was about her same age, James suspected, but he was calm, took his time with lessons, didn’t assign much homework. Of course, in April, James and the other boys had taken a look through their notes from Brocken’s class, for old times’ sake, and realized that their old professor had expected them to know three times as many spells as Lexington had taught them in a few months. And that they barely knew how to properly do the handful he’d taught them.

They hadn’t been the… most well-behaved students in the class since then.

“We really should have been told, Horace,” said the woman Sprout was squeezing in next to, a witch with sharp, pointed features. “Can’t you say something to Dumbledore?”

Slughorn looked over at her, amused. “I think, Septima, you have not been here long enough to learn that Dumbledore does not truly take suggestions. Nor does he choose to inform beyond a need-to-know basis. I’m surprised we found out this soon, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be late,” Sprout said. “My walking camellias and the fourth-years have been having a terrible time together this fall — I had to keep a rowdy contingent of them from storming out of Greenhouse 3.”

James wondered whether it was the camellias or the fourth-years who were upset.

“Are Minerva and Apollo coming?”

“I doubt it,” said Slughorn. “I think Minerva’s still with the girl. Helping her to make arrangements.”

“And I saw Apollo on his way up to Ravenclaw Tower.” This was one of the professors James didn’t know, a man with a stiff brown beard and a severe middle part. “He said he was going to see if any of the older students needed someone to speak to. The boy graduated just last year, you know.”

That made the witch next to Sprout start crying, though she seemed to grow all the more furious for it. Sprout rubbed her shoulder sympathetically before speaking again.

“Then let’s get on with this,” she said. “We know it was the Death Eaters? Not something else? Some…accident?”

Several of the teachers began talking over each other, but O’Brien interrupted them all loudly. “Without a doubt. Dumbledore had me—”

He stopped, and scanned the other teachers, as if thinking about what he’d revealed. It made the hair on James’s neck stand up.

Whatever O’Brien was going to say, he didn’t say it. “Trust me,” he continued. “This was a targeted strike. Which, if you’ve been paying attention, means it wasn’t just a random group of Death Eaters who decided that ‘Muggle-lovers’ are worth targeting now.”

Sprout gasped, and Lexington got even paler, which James wouldn’t have guessed possible. “Y-you mean…” he stammered.

“We think…I think…the rumor I am hearing is that a top-level Death Eater was in charge of the strike. Voldemort may have even been there in person.”

The teachers reacted like the wizard himself had walked in the room, gasping back surprise and looking back and forth at one another. Lexington even squeaked. What a loathsome excuse for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

“That’s not my opinion,” O’Brien quickly clarified, raising his hands to try and quell the uproar. “I don’t think he would risk exposure over the Queshires. But the fact of the matter is this was a targeted attack. Not a spree killing, or an impulse, or an accident.”

“Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it?” This was the wizard with the beard again, sternly looking over the assembled group.

“What do you mean, Mordicus?” asked a one-armed wizard who must have been the infamous Professor Kettleburn. James took a step or two closer, hesitant to miss a word.

“Come on,” Mordicus said, seeming to grow impatient. “You all must know that Warren Queshire is a member of the Wizengamot. Not especially high-ranking, but his bloodline makes up for that. We can’t assume the Death Eaters chose him and his family by chance.”

James hadn’t known Julie Queshire’s father was on the Wizengamot, but it made sense. Most every pureblood family in the country had a relative who’d been selected for the court within the last half-century, and selection wasn’t always a matter of political position within the Ministry. His father had actually been nominated for a seat shortly after selling Sleekeazy’s and retiring — he always said at parties he’d rejected it because he wanted to “spend more time with my lovely wife,” but when they were home James’s mother always reminded him that he was just grumpy about the Chief Warlock having dated her during their Hogwarts days.

There were dozens of members to the Wizengamot, most of whom served at their leisure and were only required to go into London for major trials. Presumably Warren Queshire was one of these — and thereby not qualified for Auror protection at his home.

“This is an assassination, not just a murder,” Egg continued, “and its intent is to strike fear into the heart of British wizarding society — so we will capitulate to Voldemort’s monstrous demands instead of fighting back.”

“Well it is _working_!”

The shout came from Lexington, who sprang to his feet. James had never seen the professor move so fast.

“Louis, sit down,” O’Brien snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“You’re embarrassing _your_ self!”

James had thought Lexington was a lousy teacher, but it was disappointing to see he was as horrible a person out of the classroom too.

“We’re sitting here, talking, and You-Know-Who—”

“ _Voldemort,_ ” O’Brien cut in sharply. “The man calls himself Voldemort. And those of us who have been at this school longer than 20 minutes know his true name is—”

“Whatever you call him,” Lexington screeched, “he is coming for all of us now. We refused his demands, refused to surrender the Ministry to his superior strength, and now everyone of us is in mortal peril!”

“I always thought you were soft, Lexington.” Egg’s voice had gone cold and sharp, like a rapier. “Told Dumbledore it was a mistake hiring you. You’ve had your nose in books so long you’ve forgotten that those defenses you’re meant to be teaching aren’t just academic exercises.”

“Mordicus,” Slughorn started, “there’s no need to lay into the boy…”

“I’m no boy,” Lexington said. “And believe me, Mordicus, I’m well aware of the realities of the world. _I_ haven’t been wasting my time researching bloody Muggles for the last 20 years.”

Mordicus lunged to his feet to stare down Lexington along the table, one arm reaching into his robes for a wand. Lexington had his out already, quivering in his left hand. Between them, Kettleburn ducked, reflexively protecting his remaining arm with his body. The witch next to Professor Sprout screamed. Madam Hooch sprang away from the two, picking up her stool and holding it warily as a shield while, beside her, O’Brien started to pull his hefty body up from the table as well.

Holy hell, this was getting good.

“What in heaven’s name are you all doing?!”

James was so startled he almost fell out from under the Invisibility Cloak. Professor McGonagall had pushed her way through the door to the staff room, slamming it against the stone wall with a bang. Lexington had dropped his wand at the sound and backed into a wall. Almost everyone in the room was standing now, or looked near to fainting. And Mordicus had his wand all the way out now, the dark wood leveled straight at Lexington’s throat. His hand wasn’t quivering a bit.

“Mordicus!” McGonagall shouted. “Put that wand away. There’s been enough bloodshed today, I think.”

James tried not to breathe. The room was absolutely silent now, as everyone looked to see what the professor was going to do.

Then Egg’s arm came down in a swift, graceful sweep, and Lexington was scuttling the other way, past Hooch and O’Brien, around the table, and — though he didn’t know it — straight for James.

James’s whole body broke out in a cold sweat as he watched his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor come running toward him. He couldn’t move. The room was too quiet. But he couldn’t stay. Lexington would run straight into him and then—

“Where do you think you’re going, Louis?” McGonagall said, and Lexington stopped on a sickle inches away from James. He could have reached out and pinched the man.

“I’m doing what all the rest of you should be doing,” Lexington said. He was half-turned away from James now, but the boy could see his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. “I’m leaving. Leaving Hogwarts, leaving England. Going somewhere that isn’t getting ready to eat itself alive.”

“Coward,” Egg spat. He was glaring at Lexington across the table, and James could almost feel the rage boiling off of him. “People are out there dying, and you’re just going to run.”

“You’re damn right I’m going to run,” Lexington said back. “This is going to get worse before it gets better. The Ministry is doing nothing. There’s more Death Eaters every day. And now they’re going to start attacking us? We didn’t do anything to them.”

“Neither did any of the Muggles they’ve killed,” O’Brien said, moving away from the table and walking slowly toward Lexington. “Men, women, children — families who committed no crime except being born without our gifts. Gifts you’re squandering.”

The men were only a step away from each other now. But Lexington was too far along to shrink away from the Charms professor now. “If I stay here, in Britain, I might die with my gifts. I’d rather live with them somewhere else.”

“We’ve finally found somethin’ we can both agree on,” O’Brien said, his Brooklyn accent and rage blurring the words together. “I’d rather live with you somewhere else too. Minerva, out ‘a his way.”

McGonagall stepped aside without a word. Lexington left the same way, never looking back at the other professors.

“Bollocks,” Slughorn said, after the sound of his footsteps faded away. “Dumbledore’s going to be awfully sore to have to hire another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor so soon.”

“He’s used to it,” Egg said, arms crossed. He didn’t sit back down. “I think we all know who we have to blame for that.”

“Wait,” the witch beside Sprout said. “The jinx is real?”

“Catch up, Septima,” McGonagall said, crossing the room and taking Lexington’s old seat. Now that he was looking at her straight-on, James saw her eyes were puffy and red, and she looked more haggard than he could have ever imagined. “Merlin knows I’ve explained enough of that man’s actions today.”

“How is she doing?” Sprout asked, as O’Brien came back to the table. “Her whole family. I can only imagine.”

“Whatever you imagine, it’s worse,” McGonagall said, reaching a hand back and undoing something behind her head that caused the whole bun of hair to collapse, settling on her shoulders. “I finally had to bring her down to the hospital, have Poppy give her a Sleeping Draught. A nightmare to wake up to… but she’ll have soft, simple dreams for a few hours.”

“The whole school knows,” Kettleburn said. “Or near enough.”

“What are we doing about it?” Egg asked. “My contacts out in the Muggle Liaison Office are terrified. They think if the Death Eaters are going to start attacking wizarding families that oppose them — even purebloods — they won’t have a chance of drumming up sympathy. Half of them are thinking of doing the same thing as that insect Lexington — fleeing the country, heading for the Continent or some remote corner of the world.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” McGonagall said, a double-flick of her wand conjuring a cup and saucer and floating the kettle across the room to fill it with boiling water. “I just want to sit here, drink some tea, and complain about the new crop of first-years. You want to do something, Mordicus, go right ahead. But for now all I want to do is let everything be normal.”

“Alright,” Egg said, pocketing his wand and going around the table. “I need to get out of the castle anyway. Otherwise I’m going to do something terrible to Lexington before he turns in his resignation.”

James was going to have to trust his instincts more often. Just by coming down here, he’d found out more about the attack on the Queshires, seen two professors nearly duel, watched one of them effectively quit on the spot, and even gotten to see McGonagall literally take her hair down. It was the best afternoon of his life. He almost wished he could tell the others about it.

He was probably pushing his luck sticking around much longer. After Professor Egg left the room, he would probably follow behind and—

“Oh, and Mordicus,” McGonagall said, as he was nearly gone. “Shut the door on your way out, would you?”

Damn it all.

* * *

It was an hour before one of the other professors got up to leave — well, a professor who was skinny enough that James could slip past them without bumping into them. Bloody Slughorn.

By then, James’s feet were killing him, and his back too. He had been able to shift his weight here and there, and occasionally move around when the conversation level had reached a dull roar. But he didn’t dare sit down on the floor, not knowing when one of them would get up and try to step on him. For all the information he’d gotten, he was going to have to think twice about making another trip down to the staffroom.

On the other hand, it was hilarious to hear Slughorn’s impression of the first-year Slytherins trying feebly to come up with reasons why it was bad to poison people.

After escaping the staff room, he’d ditched the Invisibility Cloak in the boys’ lavatory down the hall, rolling it up and tying it like a belt around his waist. The band of silvery fabric looked ridiculous in the mirror, but if he kept his robes tight, it would just look like he’d had a huge dinner.

James decided to take the auxiliary stairs back up to the Gryffindor common room, so as to minimize the number of people he might bump into. And that’s how he stumbled onto Lily Evans, sobbing inconsolably.

He almost missed her, which was probably what she had been hoping for. He was on his way to the fourth floor stairs, walking past the balconies, and slowed down for a second to see if there were still storm clouds on the horizon — things had looked gloomy when he was on the Quidditch pitch with Sirius, but he’d been hoping the four of them could go out on the quad tomorrow if the weather held.

And she was just there. She wasn’t facing him, and he could barely see much of her, the way she was curled away from him on a stone bench. But there was something about her hair or her figure that told James immediately that it was Lily Evans. Maybe it was the fact that she’d gone out of the dorm in her Muggle clothes — a white jumper, and pants in a near-glowing green. Maybe it was just the exact color of her red hair, or the way it was cut. But a second later, he picked the sound of her crying out of the ambient noise of the castle.

So then he was there too, awkwardly standing over her in the twilight, the sun behind the castle beginning to cast the whole balcony in shadows.

“Hey,” he said softly, and she reacted with her whole body, spinning around and flinching back.

“Dammit, James,” she gasped, looking up at him through tear-stained eyes. “I nearly jumped off the balcony just now.”

“Sorry,” he said, looking down at the ground. “Can I sit here, or…”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Lily said, wiping her face off with her sleeve. “Sit, sure.”

He tried to take up as little space as possible on the bench, so she could uncurl, but Lily just shifted a little so she could lean her head back on the parapet with her eyes closed. As if she was gathering the strength to talk to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I, uh… well, you must have heard about the Queshires by now, right? I feel like you always know all the Hogwarts gossip.”

“Uh, yeah,” James said. This was probably not the moment to try and show off by sharing what he’d learned in the staff room. “Yeah, Remus and Peter told me when I got back from Quidditch tryouts. I…I guess I didn’t realize you knew Julie?”

“I don’t,” Lily said, her voice sounding choked suddenly. “I mean, she seems nice. Her little origami trick is really cute. But I don’t like know her.”

“Oh. Then…”

Lily took a deep breath. “The town where her family lives. Lived. Oh, God.”

She was crying again then. This was the worst. Did girls always cry this much when sad things happened?

James inched a little closer, then gingerly reached out and patted her on the shoulder, feeling like an idiot. But it seemed to help. Lily began to catch her breath, and the sobs turned to slow sniffles.

“I’m from the same place,” she finally gasped, as if it hurt to say. “Cokeworth. I grew up there. Never knew there were any other wizard families until today. Except Severus’s family, of course.”

“So…you feel bad that you never knew the Queshires?” James asked.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Lily said. “But I was… Nobody seemed to know whether it was just the Queshires, or if there were neighbors hurt too, or if there was more than one attack…”

James understood, all in an instant. “Your parents. You thought—”

“Yeah,” Lily said simply, to cut him off. “Trix came up to me in such a panic, ‘cause she knew, of course, where I was from. But she thought I already had heard, so she just asked right away if they were okay, and I didn’t even know what was happening.”

“ _Are_ they okay?” James asked, without thinking, and he watched her face crumple. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, of course, they’re Muggles, of course you don’t know—”

“No, I do actually.” Lily said, breaking into the first smile he’d seen from her yet. “Severus—well, I was beside myself when Trix told me, and I was halfway to the Owlery, and then I thought… When I went home for Easter holidays last year, Mary and I went to visit Trix, and we and her family went to Diagon Alley with this dust stuff.”

“Floo powder,” James interjected. “Except you can’t have gone and visited your parents, right? Because they’re not on the network.”

“That’s what Severus said, when I tracked him down. I was practically in hysterics — worse than this — but he sat me down and explained it all to me. That I couldn’t just pop into any fireplace, and that the fireplaces here were specifically set up so you couldn’t travel through them.”

“Then how—”

“He knew this other way. You could just talk through it. Sort of like a telephone.”

James gave her a blank look, but didn’t ask.

“So I begged him to call his mum. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t doing it himself, honestly. He already knew about the Queshires, and he didn’t know any more than me, but he wasn’t worried at all. It was weird, actually — but I didn’t care. I just wanted to make sure my parents and Tuney were okay.

“So he got some powder from the dungeons, and then we found an old sitting room on the ground floor that had a fireplace. And he called out his parents’ address, and his mum told us both that everyone by us was fine. The explosion was on the other side of town, and the only bodies they’d found were wizards, and she was sure my parents were totally fine because otherwise there’d be Obliviators wandering the streets.”

“Well, that’s good!” James said. “Why are you still making a face like it’s not good?”

“Because…” Lily put her head in her hands for a second, then pulled them across her face, fingers interlocking behind her head. “It _could_ have been my family, James. I remember hearing about a Death Eater attack or two last year, and being a little scared. But then nothing else happened and I thought… well, there are bad Muggles too, you know? Why shouldn’t there be bad wizards too?

“It’s different now. There’s been at least one attack every week since the end of July. Did you know that? Mary told me, on the train. She said she was afraid to tell her parents, and I don’t blame her. I’m afraid to tell mine too.

“As soon as Severus put out the fire, I started crying. And he just didn’t get it. He didn’t understand, James. He told me my mum and dad and Petunia were fine, and no one we cared about was hurt, and it was silly to be upset. But the way I see it, it’s silly to _not_ be upset, and pretend like they aren’t in danger. That we all aren’t in danger, everywhere except here at Hogwarts.”

“Wow,” James said. “I—I hadn’t thought about that either, I guess.”

“I know,” Lily said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. “It’s the luxury of your wizard family, I guess. No one’s hunting you, yet. No one thinks you’re less than human, yet.”

“I don’t think you’re less than human,” he said, cutting her off. “I think you’re one of the most brilliant witches I know.”

Lily flushed bright red before James realized how much of a compliment he’d given her. “Um, thanks,” she whispered. “I guess I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Well it’s not like we talk much,” James said. “You and Trix and Mary are always three peas in a pod, in class and up in the common room. And…well, you know Snape and I have a bit of a history.”

“I guess,” Lily said, rubbing the bottom edge of her jumper between her fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be some stuck-up prat.”

“I didn’t say that,” James said. “We’re just…not really friends.”

“Well, you sat here and watched me cry and listened to my whole freakout,” she replied. “So maybe we’re not friends, James. But I guess we’re something like friends-adjacent.”

“I’ll take it.” James was practically beaming. This was the _best_ day. “It’s always good to have a place to start. If I work hard, pretty soon I’ll be able to move up to ‘friend-when-all-your-other-friends-are-busy.’”

Lily giggled. “I’ll be looking forward to that, James. I really will.”

A moment later she was off, promising to give him advice on their Potions assignment later and headed to the girls’ dorm to give Beatrix and Mary an update on her family. James just sat there watching her go, cloak tight around his waist, feeling extremely, giddily visible.


	2. All I've Got to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter thought once he had friends, everything would be nice and easy. And it was. Until now.

Peter hadn’t thought he had an opinion about whether or not James or Sirius made it on the Quidditch team. Sure, it’d be cool to have a friend on the team. But it’d also be fun for the four of them to go to all the games together and just hang out in the stands.

_(They could have put on cool red and gold face paint!)_

A week after the tryouts, he felt extremely different. He wished James would get hit by a Bludger so hard that he never wanted to get on a broomstick again.

“I mean, it’s just ridiculous,” James said for the fifth time in a week at lunch. “Reserve?! I flew circles around bloody Blake Wilson. Hell, I’m still flying circles around him. At our first practice this weekend, he got hit by three Bludgers. Three!”

_(Yeah, but you still got hit by two, and he scored a ton of goals.)_

“James, I’m trying to be sympathetic,” Sirius said, as he took the last pork pie, “ but you forget that he gave the entire common room a play-by-play of practice after you came back and stormed up to our dorm. And it sounded like he just scored a bunch more than you.”

“Ugh, yeah, that’s so lame that he bragged about all that,” James said. Ignoring everything Sirius had just said. “What an arse. Am I right, Remus?”

“Leave me out of it,” Remus said, flipping through his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and occasionally nibbling on his sandwich. “You’re the ones who wanted to be on the team. Peter and I sensibly opted out of Quidditch talk two weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” Peter said hesitantly, trying not to draw James’s attention over-much.

“Remus,” Sirius said, “why the hell are you worrying about Defense Against the Dark Arts? We don’t even know what this ‘Professor Egg’ is going to expect of us today.”

“Well, it very well might be for us to have done the reading Professor Lexington assigned us,” Remus said without looking up. “So I’d rather be ready for class than walking in blind like you and James.”

Peter had done his reading already over the weekend, while Remus was who-knew-where and Sirius was failing yet again to beat Nabin at a game of wizards’ chess. The assignment had been terribly dry — for their textbook this year, Lexington had made them buy something called _I Survived: Tales of Escaping the Dark Arts_ , every story ten times less interesting than the last — but he’d done it. So if Mordicus Egg asked them a question about Mediwitch Olivia Bolton, the only spellcaster in her unit to survive the Dark Lady Phoebe’s assault on Turin during the Muggles’ Great War, he was ready to answer.

_(Probably.)_

A bell rang, and the students around them began to shuffle off to class. Peter and the others quickly joined them, Remus leading the way and Peter trailing behind.

“Hey, is that thing still happening with your brother?” James said to Sirius as they headed up the stairs to the third floor. Peter tried to lean in to listen better.

“Ugh, I do _not_ want to talk about it,” Sirius groaned. “He got another letter. I could have sworn an owl was just here on Friday.”

“You could always write back to her,” Remus said, looking over his shoulder. “You know, communicate.”

“Bite me,” Sirius snapped back. Remus flinched at the suggestion, then turned back around and kept walking, faster than the other three.

_(Merlin only knows what that is all about.)_

“He was so grumpy last week, and now he’s all skittish,” James whispered. “Are you sure that—”

“Hey, Peter?”

Daisy Mandel was hurrying up to the three of them, and Peter slowed down so she could fall in line beside him.

_(Though I’d much rather know what James and Sirius are talking about.)_

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, as they walked through the classroom door.

“You know anything about this ‘Professor Egg’?” she whispered, looking around as if expecting him to pop out of nowhere in the half-empty room. “All I could figure out at lunch is that he used to teach Muggle Studies and volunteered to step in after Lexington resigned.”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but James was already doing it for him.

“‘Volunteered’ isn’t exactly the way I, uh, heard it,” James said. “Egg got into it with Lexington when he was running away from the castle. Wouldn’t be surprised if Dumbledore made him pick up the slack as a sort of reprimand. Or maybe he just thought he could do a better job.”

“Who couldn’t?” Sirius said. “Even our prefect babysitter Sarina wasn’t as bad this past week — at least she didn’t lecture us all period.”

Daisy laughed at that, and Peter could see he was already forgotten in her mind. She and Sirius kept chattering as they climbed the stairs, following her down the aisle to sit on the other side of Remus.

Peter just slid into the first seat on the end, next to James. For all the other boy’s bluster at lunch, it amused Peter to see James quickly pull out his copy of _I Survived_ and flip through to the chapter on Olivia Bolton.

Mordicus Egg came in immediately behind the last few Gryffindor students, scanning the room as he stepped to the front of the class. Their new professor struck a strong contrast with the short, pale man who had been teaching them since last term. He was shockingly tall, and the way he was standing in front of them — legs firmly planted a shoulder-width apart, hands tucked behind his back — only seemed to accentuate it. There was a symmetrical simplicity to his appearance. His black robes had an accent of white stitching that curled from the wrists up to his elbows, and his pointy brown beard seemed an extension of the distinct part that cut his hair in half down the middle.

“All right, everyone, let’s get settled,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I’ve got to start with a bit of a speech, and I loathe giving speeches without an attentive audience.”

_(Okay, this one is going to be interesting.)_

True to his word, Egg waited, looking from one student to another as the chatter subsided. Only when there was total silence did he take his arms back out from behind his back and begin speaking again.

“Before anything else, I’d like you all to take out your copies of _I Survived_ and pass them to the front of the class.”

The chatter started up again, louder than before, and when Peter looked down the aisle at his friends, he could see Remus looked a combination of confused, angry and ill. James and Sirius were just laughing, grabbing Remus and Daisy’s books too and passing them all to Peter, who handed them down to Mina Dawlish in the second row.

“I’ve already spoken to Dumbledore and gotten a buy-back approved,” Egg said, over the noise of his students, “so we’ll be owling the balance you’re owed back to your parents.”

“Too bad,” James muttered. “I could use the extra spending money for some new Quidditch gloves.”

Peter’s eyes rolled so hard he thought they might pop out of his head.

“Since the term has already begun,” Egg continued, “I think asking you to acquire a new textbook right away seems improper. I’ve put a number of supplemental readings on hold with Madam Fludd in the library for the time being, and I’ll make a final determination on which text or texts we’ll use for the remainder of the year by the holidays. Sound good?”

Only muffled whispers greeted the question, but Egg didn’t seem deterred.

“Excellent. Now. Introductions. My name is Mordicus Egg. You may have encountered me already in the halls of Hogwarts. For the past decade, I have had the pleasure of serving as this school’s Muggle Studies professor.

“It is a class I hope you will consider adding to your schedules next year — although if you are a Muggleborn student yourself, I’ll certainly understand if you don’t want to re-learn what light switches are.” In the front row, Mary, Lily and Nabin all broke into giggles, and Peter couldn’t resist a smirk of his own.

“Many of you have lived your whole lives in a world apart from the majority of the humans who live and breathe on this planet,” Egg continued, “and have been told you never have any need to cross from your world into theirs. I have considered it my duty for the last ten years, and more besides, to disagree.

“In a certain sense, this is a moot point for you. This is not Muggle Studies, after all — it is Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I have no interest in handicapping your education in that subject by diverting from it overmuch. Despite my chosen area of focus, I have long been a student of defensive magics, and have even assisted Professor Dumbledore in his continuing search for an instructor who can…excel in this position. With Professor Lexington’s departure, I have volunteered myself so that many of those who I would otherwise recommend can continue to do their equally vital work outside these walls.

“During your time at Hogwarts, you will learn many things, and I wish I could tell you Defense Against the Dark Arts will be the least important of your classes. But at this moment in time, I have no confidence in that.

“Outside these walls, there are two worlds at war. One world has no idea of the war — until its inhabitants become victims. The other persists in believing the war is a mere difference of opinion, and the pain of their neighbors should mean nothing to them.

“So I hope you will understand if, over the course of this year, I refuse to leave the rest of the world beyond the halls of Hogwarts. Because for both Muggles and ourselves, Defense Against the Dark Arts is rapidly becoming anything but a theoretical exercise.”

* * *

“You know,” his father’s next letter began, “I think I remember Mordicus Egg.”

_Couple of years behind me in school, and a Gryffindor to boot. But I remember him nonetheless — one of the few Gryffindors I paid any attention to, present company excepted. Masterfully talented, but always sticking his nose in where it didn’t truly need to be. My last year was his first as a prefect, and he was terribly bothersome._

_Aside from all that, I’m glad to hear your classes are going well. I remember second year being much simpler than first, in many ways. You’re used to your professors, you aren’t worried about making friends. You can focus on the important things._

_My focus, more than ever, has been on work. All the effort I’ve put in over the summer, the connections and the deals — they’re all paying off. You may want to consider letting one of the Hogwarts owls carry your next note to me — by the time you send it, I may be across the Atlantic. One of my largest clients has decided the time has come to make some introductions for me — new contacts who can help ensure our continued comfort for the foreseeable future._

_Perhaps at the holidays, I can tell you a bit more. Owl post is generally secure, but…well, you know enough to know the work I do at the Ministry is already sensitive enough. The work I do on the side is all the more so._

_Make sure you get a good grade in Egg’s class. Don’t want him seeing the name Pettigrew as belonging to anyone but a winner._

_Dad_

Peter skimmed the letter again, then slipped it into _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_ , a few pages back from his father’s last. Shortly after telling James, Remus and Sirius about the Cavern, he’d moved all the ones he’d already gotten into the book — that way none of the boys would discover them, but he’d still be able to go back and read them easily. When he’d finally gotten up the courage to start writing his mum back, he’d put her letters in a copy of _Learned Comments of Wisdom_. An even less likely book for the other three to start paging through.

Not that he thought any of them were ever here without him anyway. The foursome had enjoyed a lot of good times in the Cavern since last Christmas, but Peter had never once popped in after classes or on the weekend to find another of his friends hanging out there. It was only as a group that they ever found themselves there.

Which, if Peter was being honest, he was okay with.

_(Aside from all the paranoid feelings that they have their own secret space he wasn’t invited into, obviously.)_

Since none of them were here without him knowing, Peter still had the Cavern for times like this: right after classes, in the early evening, when he wanted to just get away from everything and everyone.

Of course, if you got away from everything too long, you did get hungry.

His stomach grumbled in protest as he pulled the needle off of _White Light / White Heat_. His father had sent it with the latest letter, and he’d already listened to the whole album once, trying to enjoy it.

Normally, he liked everything his father brought back from America. This and the other Velvet Underground album had been rare exceptions. Their dissonance unsettled him. The fact that his father couldn’t get enough of them unsettled him too. Sirius would like it, though.

_(Not a compliment.)_

Slipping his robes back on, Peter poked his head quickly out through the wall. No one — so he slipped the rest of the way out and began heading down toward the Great Hall.

Halfway down, James and Sirius seemed to come out of nowhere, pulling him off into a side hallway.

“Hey Peter, do you have a second?” James said. He looked uncertain about something, and Sirius even more so behind him.

“Um, sure,” he said, though his stomach betrayed the lie with a sudden gurgle. “Want to talk over dinner? I’m just headed to the Great Hall.”

“Nah, we just ate,” James said.

“That’s perfect, though—” Sirius interjected, “—cause Remus is still down there.”

“Oh, good…” Peter said, trying to sort out what the other boys were talking about.

“We want to talk to you about Remus,” James said, finally putting it into words.

_(Merlin’s beard, what now?)_

“Why?” Peter asked aloud. “Is something wrong with his mum?”

“Well that’s just the thing,” James said. “Don’t you think it’s weird that his mum is still sick?”

Peter thought about it for a minute. Remus had been leaving school once or twice a month since they’d first arrived at Hogwarts a little more than a year ago, but he’d only gotten up the courage to tell the three of them that his mum was sick after the Christmas holidays. He’d looked terribly nervous about it too, the night he’d asked Peter to stay back in the Cavern one night near the end of January.

And Peter had known exactly how he felt.

_(Well, not_ exactly _exactly, but near.)_

As angry as he had been at his mum for leaving, she was alive and well and living somewhere east of Paris. If she was sick — sick with something wizards didn’t even understand, and something his father wouldn’t explain — he’d barely be able to function.

“He wouldn’t lie to us about his mum,” Peter snapped, more harshly than he intended. “If he says she’s still sick, she’s obviously still sick.”

“Not everyone has the same feelings about their parents as you, Peter,” Sirius said quietly. “Hell, some of us frankly wish their mums would catch something nasty.”

“Okay, melodrama later,” James said. “Detective work now.”

“James, you’re not a bloody detective,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “What reason would Remus possibly have for telling us his mum is sick when she isn’t? And even if she was, what would he be doing instead of visiting her? It’s not like we can just leave Hogwarts whenever we want.”

“Maybe _he’s_ sick,” Sirius suggested. “He does seem to get peaky right before he goes, even when it’s ‘unexpected.’”

“That’s my first guess too,” James said. “Except why wouldn’t he just tell us that? That’s what I can’t figure out.”

“Well, he can’t be sick,” Peter said, definitively enough that the boys both stopped talking and looked straight at him silently. “He’s already been sick. Remember? He got Warbling Cough last Christmas, same as you, James, but before then he was just here in the castle with the rest of us. If he was really sick, on top of that, they would have made up some excuse and taken him to Mungo’s to put him under examination.”

“Huh,” James said, finally stunned enough to stop talking.

“That’s actually a really good point,” Sirius said. “I mean, he did go to the hospital wing overnight, that day it got really bad. But when we went to go see him in the morning he didn’t seem any worse than any of the other kids there. Maybe better.”

“Okay, but that makes it even weirder,” James said. “If he’s not sick, and his mum’s not sick, then what reason would he possibly have to leave the castle every month?”

“I mean,” Peter said, crossing his arms peevishly, “there’s always the possibility his mum is actually sick.”

James opened his mouth to say something, but Sirius cut him off with a glance. “You’re right, Peter. It’s way more likely that his mum is still going to Mungo’s and he’s still going to visit her. We’re just worried and wanted to know if you knew any more than we did.”

“Well I don’t,” Peter said. “I mean, I can keep an eye on him, but…”

“That would be great,” James interjected. “I think we should all just keep an eye on him, for the next couple of months. That’s all we have to do. Just watch out for him. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it but…it’s not healthy, to keep all this stuff bottled up.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius said. “I’m not going to make him tell me anything he doesn’t want to. I just want to be sure we don’t just forget that there’s clearly something going on.”

“We won’t,” Peter said. “I’m actually off to get dinner with him, so…”

“Right, right,” James said, stepping back. “Sorry. Far be it from me to keep a hungry Gryffindor away from his dinner.”

They all laughed at that, and things felt like normal again.

So it was really irritating that the first thing Remus said to him when he got to the table was “I want to talk to you about James.”

_(Come. On.)_

“Can I have a little shepherd’s pie first before the Spanish Inquisition comes galloping in?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Peter didn’t know what it was making all his friends so suspicious today. Maybe there was something in the pie. He eyeballed it warily before deciding to risk it.

“Look,” Remus continued, “I know we’ve only been back to school a month. But James has just seemed really off ever since we got back to Hogwarts. I feel like every time I turn around, expecting to find him, he’s gone.”

“I mean, it’s a big castle,” Peter said, his mouth full of pie.

_(If the thing’s poisoned, you should be getting paranoid right about now.)_

“It’s not like we’re all attached at the hip. Don’t get me wrong, it’d be fun to hang out more often as a foursome, but—”

“That’s just it,” Remus said. “You and Sirius — I feel like any time I’m looking for you two, I know right where to go. And you know I’m basically always in the library if I’m not in the common room. Where’s James going?”

Remus did have a point, though Peter didn’t like admitting it. “Could he be back on Evans again? I don’t know what he sees in that girl, other than nice hair and terrible taste in friends.”

“Ugh, yeah. I wish Snape would just give in to his true snakey nature and dump her. Last thing we need is a Death Eater sympathizer in Gryffindor.”

Peter had actually been thinking of the haughty, irritating Beatrix Bellicose, not Snape…but that was neither here nor there.

“But no, I don’t think it’s Evans. I’ve seen her with either her girlfriends or Snape often enough, and never with James. He’s doing something else.”

“I mean, he does have Quidditch practice nowadays,” Peter said. “You may have heard him mention it once or twice.”

“Last year,” Remus said, not listening to Peter, “every once in a while I would go upstairs to bed on a weekend and he wouldn’t be in his bed. I just assumed he was nipping down to the kitchen. But we’re making the Wednesday snack run after Astronomy pretty regular now, so if he was getting more than that I think we’d see him ballooning out of his robes.”

The idea of Fat James made Peter laugh hard enough to nearly choke on his pumpkin juice.

“Well, I can keep an eye on him,” he said for the second time that day, after he caught his breath, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

A pained expression came across Remus’s face. “I mean…I feel like asking you to do that makes me a bad friend. But it’s sort of weird, right? I’m worried about him. What if he’s like…gambling away the family fortune with some seventh-years? Or maybe one of the new first-years is his secret half-brother and they’ve been meeting in secret to find out the truth about their parents?”

“Okay, calm down, Coronation Street.” Peter was starting to feel a little bit like a priest, with all these worried curious confessionals. “James is almost certainly doing none of those things. But I’ll let you know if I see him anywhere he shouldn’t be.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, looking embarrassed. “I’m just worried about him, you know? He never talks about home. Sirius is always complaining about his family and Regulus, and your family is…”

_(Yes, Remus, what_ is _my family?)_

“We know what’s going on with you, at least,” Remus finally said, dancing around the subject of his parents’ separation with a better pirouette than Peter had expected. “You know you can talk to us about it, and if you don’t want to that’s fine. But I feel like James’s parents could drop dead and we wouldn’t know about it for months.”

That was certainly the cauldron calling the kettle black, coming from Remus. Maybe James wasn’t crazy, to wonder about him.

“We’re supposed to be his friends,” Remus continued, “and he doesn’t…he doesn’t have to tell us all his secrets. But if it’s a secret he can tell us…well, I just wish he would, you know?”

Peter thought about all the secrets he was keeping. His father’s increasing elation about being free of his mother, and his side work. His mother telling him all about France, and reminding him not to tell his father where she and “Bertie” were living. That James and Sirius thought Remus was lying. That Remus thought James was sneaking about the castle. The shimmer of magic around the entrance to the Cavern, and how the Davises were Obliviated, and how sometimes when he was better at spellwork than his friends he got a little flutter of delight, cold and obsidian, in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re right, Remus,” he lied. “We shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

_(Not unless they’re necessary.)_


	3. All My Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius knew his mum was going to be thrilled when Regulus got into Slytherin. What he didn't suspect was that watching his little brother get letter after letter would be so bloody maddening.

The day after Regulus got sorted into Slytherin, the first letter came for him. And that was fine. It made sense. Especially after the scandal of Sirius being sorted into Gryffindor last year, and the months of going back and forth about sending Regulus to Durmstrang instead. Sirius could get over one letter to his little brother, who had succeeded in their mother’s eyes where he’d failed.

After a week, when the letters kept coming, Sirius wasn’t really surprised. Sure, he’d gotten all the “Scion of the House of Black” nonsense for 11 years, but Regulus had always _really_ been his mother’s favorite. Sirius’s getting sorted into Gryffindor had been upsetting for the family legacy, but by the time he came home for the summer, Walburga was clearly delighted to have officially redirected all her hopes and dreams into “Mummy’s Star.”

Two weeks in, he still thought he was fine. For a while. Then he had a good cry after double Potions with the Slytherins one afternoon. But he figured that would be it.

Three weeks since the first letter. They were still coming. But a twist — Regulus got five letters, but Sirius got one too. His single letter was a three-line notification from his mother that she’d officially burned his cousin Andromeda off the tapestry and there was to be “NO CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE BLOOD TRAITOR.” She didn’t even bother to sign it. And she didn’t send him another one.

A month in, he was angry.

A month after that, he was _furious_.

“Can’t you just grab him after dinner and talk to him?”

He and Remus were sitting up in the bell tower, throwing darts they’d knicked from the common room at a sketch Sirius had done of his mother. Remus was not putting the right amount of gusto into the endeavor.

“I know, I know,” Remus continued, before Sirius could say anything. “You’ve told me: ‘I’m not mad at him, it’s my mother’s fault, she’s the problem.’ But even if you wanted to write to her, you’ve said yourself that she would never write you back. Or worse, she would, but just a few mean sentences that get you moping around the castle for another week. At least Regulus is here, and he’s your brother, and I assume he must like you a little.”

“That’s the most ‘only child’ thing you’ve ever said, Remus.” Sirius threw another dart, sticking it right in the middle of Walburga’s stupid forehead.

“Alright, fair,” Remus said. “My point is — he’s not writing to your mother to hurt you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Remus ignored him. “He’s writing to your mother because they have a good relationship, and they’re both happy he’s in Slytherin, and he doesn’t have any friends yet.”

“See, that is where you’re wrong,” Sirius said. “Just the other day I saw him palling around with a couple of boys. Some second-years too, I think. They _love_ having a ‘real Black’ back in the fold.”

“That was just Fannon and Snape.” Remus threw his own dart. It landed smack-dab in the corner of the parchment. “They’re hoping your brother can help them climb the social ladder into the pureblood crowd.”

“Well, they’re probably right.” Regulus had been the quieter of the two, when they were both at home, but Sirius had been watching him — watching _out_ for him, originally, though he never would have admitted that to Remus.

Regulus was no social butterfly to be sure, but Sirius hadn’t seen him once alone in the castle. It was always a different group of Slytherins with him. He saw Fred Wilkes and the Carrow girl whose name he always forgot more often than the others, he supposed, but not by much.

“Look, Sirius,” Remus said, throwing his last dart without even looking and turning to face him with his arms crossed. “I don’t know your brother. To me, he’s just another little firstie, running around the castle, reminding me how dumb and childish we all were last year. But I know you, and I know this is driving you mad. Every time you see him, your face gets all red and puffy. Real unattractive.”

“Shut up, you,” Sirius said. “‘Least I don’t get so moody I eat everything in sight before—”

Sirius caught himself too late. Remus looked like he’d been punched in the gut; his whole body seemed to go loose, like a marionette with cut strings.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. My mum is terrible. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you to still—”

“It’s fine,” Remus said, but it clearly wasn’t. He went over to look out the window, nervously tapping his foot.

Not for the first time, Sirius wondered why any of them mentioning Remus’s mother made him _nervous_ …not sad, and never angry. Nervous.

“I’ll try to get Regulus alone and say something to him,” Sirius said, trying to change the subject back. “You’re right. He’s the only person in my whole bloody family who’s worth anything.”

Remus looked back at him like he was daft. “No he’s not, dummy. You are too.”

“Oh, right, sure,” Sirius said, walking over to rip down the sketch and tuck the darts in his robe pocket. “I suppose I should count myself, eh?”

“You certainly should,” Remus said. There was an earnestness in his voice all of a sudden. “James and Peter and I all think you’re worth something, Sirius. So do the rest of the Gryffindors. And our professors. And probably a half-dozen people you don’t even know.”

“Oh, well if those people think so…”

“Hey.”

Remus grabbed his arm as he started to make his way back to their bags, holding him in place. “I know sitting at meals and watching your little brother get one letter after another from your mum makes you feel like you don’t matter. But your mum is wrong, Sirius. You need to remember that, when you talk to Regulus. She’s wrong.”

There was a tiny, tiny crack in his anger. Just big enough for the smile he gave while trying not to tear up in front of Remus.

“Thanks,” he squeaked out. He hurried over and grabbed his things before something else could escape, handing Remus his own bag without looking.

“You going to look for him right now then,” Remus said, “or…”

“Probably too late,” Sirius said, looking quickly at his wristwatch. “Aren’t you supposed to be bringing me down to the Cavern for my surprise birthday party I’m not supposed to know about?”

Remus just laughed. “I knew James was going to tell you. That kid can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“Nah, but we like him anyway,” Sirius said, smiling. “He knows he can’t complain about the Quidditch team all night, right?”

“I thought about reminding him,” Remus said, crouching down to reopen the trap door. “But I thought getting to hex him with no repercussions allowed would be a nice birthday present for you.”

Sirius pretended to swoon. “Oh, Remus, you shouldn’t have.”

* * *

For all his promises to Remus, it took the better part of the month before Sirius finally talked to Regulus. James monopolized the whole week after Sirius’s birthday party being excited about his first Quidditch match — then the whole _next_ week complaining about Prewett never putting him in the game.

And if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t really intended to talk to Regulus at all — but then he was up alone in the Owlery, giving Diana a snack before he sent her off with money for Mr. Pettigrew to order him an _NME_ subscription, and there he was, standing in the entryway with a letter in his hand.

“Oh,” Regulus said, voice squeaking a little. He turned his head slightly, as if looking for someone else. Or an excuse to go.

“I was just leaving,” Sirius said quickly, stuffing the rest of Diana’s treats in his pocket and ignoring her squawks as he pulled out the money for Peter’s dad.

“Oh, I— You don’t, uh, have to.” Regulus looked embarrassed as he came into the room slowly. “I was just gonna give a letter to Salazar for, um, for mum.”

Not for the first time, Sirius smirked as Regulus said his owl’s name. It was really a shame Regulus actually had been sorted into Slytherin. As angry as his mother would have been if _both_ her children hadn’t made it in, it would have been a real kick in the teeth if the son who named his owl after the house founder to impress her had ended up in Hufflepuff.

“I mean, I know,” Sirius said. “It’s not like you have any other pen pals, right?”

Regulus didn’t say anything back. He just looked down at his feet and shuffled past Sirius to get to his owl on the other side of the room.

Sirius had sent Diana on her way and was getting up to go when Regulus suddenly spoke again. “Sirius?”

When he turned around, Sirius was surprised to see Regulus’s eyes were filled with tears. “Look, I— I’m sorry if you’re cross with me. I just…I wanted to be here, in Slytherin. And I didn’t even have to ask. The Sorting Hat just knew, and I was so happy, and I _am_ so happy, but… Look, you don’t have to like me, or even talk to me. But every time I see you, now, you just look at me like I’m… some slug scum on your boot.”

“That’s not true,” Sirius said, despite himself. “I’m not cross with you at all, Regulus. I expected you would be in Slytherin. It makes sense. It’s just… When I got sorted last year, Mum and Dad were furious. Especially Walburga. I got, what, two or three letters all year, and most of those just reminding me that my place in the bloody family itself was practically in question. You’ve gotten two or three letters this week!”

“I—”

“Look,” Sirius said, cutting Regulus off before he could say anything. “I’m not blaming you. You’re happy. She’s happy. You actually like each other. That is fine. It’s just been harder than I thought it would be. Okay?”

Regulus sniffled and nodded. “Sure. I get it.”

He didn’t, Sirius suspected, but that was good enough. They’d talked. He did it. Remus would be proud.

“Alright, well I told the guys I was going to meet them at dinner, so…”

“Do you want me to write something to her for you?”

The very suggestion surprised Sirius. What would he even write to his mother at this point? “Hi, sorry I’m a big disappointment?” “How’s the weather under your personal little black rain cloud?” “Officially join the Death Eaters yet or are you still just sending a check every month?”

Regulus kept talking, not sensing the right reason for his hesitation. “I have a letter right here. I can add a little something, if you want. Like you said, she’ll write back to me, no matter what I say.”

“Sure,” Sirius said, throwing up his hands. “Why not? Ask her when she’s going to start treating me like I’m her son again, Regulus. Ask her when she’s going to stop pretending like me being a little bit different is a capital offense.”

Then Sirius stormed out of the Owlery, down to the Great Hall to complain to his friends about the moronic conversation he’d just had with his little brother. And that was the end of it.

He thought.

* * *

“Hey, Sirius, is this your sister or something?”

Sirius looked up from his Potions homework to see Mary MacDonald coming across the Great Hall toward them. She had her copy of the _Prophet_ held out in front of her — she’d started subscribing right after the Queshires were murdered and was reading it cover-to-cover before the end of breakfast every day now — and Lily Evans hanging behind her, as usual. The paper was folded over itself a couple of times, with just a bunch of tiny columns showing.

“I thought you didn’t have a sister,” Remus said, closing his copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ with a slam.

“I don’t,” Sirius said, reaching a hand out for the newspaper. “But I have enough cousins to last a lifetime. Occupational hazard of being one of Britain’s greatest wizarding families.”

“Cute,” Lily said. She never had much patience for his sarcastic pureblood material.

“Is she one of them?” Mary said, sitting down at their table. “We were just impressed to see your family name in the notices, much less marrying a Muggleborn like us.”

“What’s that?” James said, finally interested in something besides Lily approaching. He tried to peer across the table and read the _Prophet_ upside-down, but Sirius picked it up first, skimming the listings line-by-line.

They were marriages, he realized — he never made it this far into the paper; he usually focused on the opinion columns and puzzles. And it didn’t take him long to find the one Mary and Lily had spotted.

“Ha!” he laughed, half-tossing the paper over to James. “Yeah, that’s one of my cousins alright. Bloody brilliant of her, filing an announcement in the _Prophet_. My Uncle Cygnus is going to go stark raving mad.”

“What does it say?” Peter shouted. The poor kid looked like he might pass out if he didn’t find out what the notice said soon.

“It’s a marriage announcement,” James said, skimming the notice quickly. “For Andromeda Black and Edward Tonks.”

“Who’s Andromeda Black?” Peter asked, just as Remus asked, “Who’s Edward Tonks?”

“Andromeda is my favorite cousin,” Sirius answered first, “and ‘Ted’ is the Muggleborn wizard she told the family she was engaged to two months ago. Guess they finally made it official.”

“Andromeda Ophis Black and Edward Michael Tonks were married Friday, November 24 in a private ceremony at their home outside London,” James read aloud. “In attendance were the groom’s full family and supportive friends of the couple.”

“Oh good,” Sirius said drily, “I see everyone adhered to the official Black family position on the union, which is that Andromeda is a filthy blood traitor, and we should begin work on spells to ‘strangle their loins and prevent tainting of our pureblood heritage.’”

“Ew,” Lily and Remus said in unison.

“They’d better hurry,” James said, skimming further down the article. “Says here the happy couple plans to ‘travel to the Continent for their honeymoon and then focus on expanding their family.’”

“Aww,” Mary said. “You might have a little baby cousin soon, Sirius.”

“Maybe,” Sirius said, taking the paper back from James. “Not that I’ll ever get to see him or her. I’ve never even met Ted — Andromeda wanted to bring him to my mother’s 45th birthday party a few years back, and my father threatened to hang him from the chandelier by his wrists if he ever set foot in the house.”

“It was his ankles, actually.”

Sirius turned around to see Regulus suddenly there, inching closer to the group. Conversation stopped instantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peter’s mouth dropping open, and Lily sharing a glance with James.

“Sorry,” Regulus said. “You know I’m a stickler for details.”

“I do,” Sirius said slowly. “My apologies. I don’t try to remember the specifics of how our parents treat people who aren’t ‘fortunate’ enough to share our bloodline.”

If Sirius’s words hurt his little brother, he wasn’t showing it on his face. Regulus just took another step forward and pulled a small envelope out from the inside of his sleeve.

“Special delivery,” he said, half-smiling.

Sirius looked at the letter like it was dangerous. It very well might have been, honestly. At least he knew it wasn’t a Howler — even if the envelope had been a vivid red, his mother would never send something so vulgar. She and his father preferred to hurt him with the _content_ of their messages, not their volume.

“What is it?” Sirius asked.

“It’s your response,” Regulus replied. “You asked me to write to Mother for you, Sirius. I did. I keep my promises. I asked her—”

“I know what you asked her.” Bloody snake guts. Regulus was the most literal git he’d ever met. “Give it here.”

Regulus put the letter in Sirius’s outstretched hand. There was a strange look on his face. Sirius had the sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what their mother had written to him.

“I’d wait ’til later to read it, if I was you,” Regulus said, eying his friends. “Though it seems you and your friends are already doing such a good job gossiping about our family…”

“We’re not gossiping about your family,” James said, loudly enough that Sirius could see students further away finally start to take notice. “When you’re talking about snakes, it’s a public service to mention how bloody venomous they are.”

Regulus’ face turned bright red, and he turned on his heels and left, quickly crossing the Great Hall back to the Slytherin table.

“I’m sorry,” James was already saying as Sirius turned back around to face the others. He had that hurt puppy look he always got when he knew he’d messed up. “I didn’t mean to say that, about your family. He just looked so bloody smug and you’ve been fretting ever since we got back to school about him and—”

“It’s fine,” Sirius said. He was pretty sure he was telling the truth. “Lily, are you and Mary able to stick around a bit? I don’t know about the rest of us, but I can’t make heads or tails of the differences between all of these sleeping potions.”

“Ugh, come on, Sirius,” Lily said, taking his textbook away from him and rifling through it. “It’s not that complicated. We just have to sort 11 different potions into three categories and then rank them by potency. We’ve talked about this implicitly a dozen times since last year.”

“Yeah, come on, Sirius,” Remus said with a wink. “It’s just 11 potions and three categories and we’ve only made one of them before. _So_ simple.”

Sirius laughed with everyone else. He almost forgot about the letter he was tucking away in his bag.

Almost.

* * *

He managed to get away with ignoring the letter most of the day. First he was studying. Then staying downstairs for lunch with the lads. Then he went upstairs to see if he could finally beat Nabin in a game of chess. Then he had to try again in a rematch. He even went downstairs with Peter to argue over their taste in music in the Cavern for a few hours.

But by the time dinner rolled around, Sirius realized he couldn’t put it off much longer.

“Aren’t you hungry?” James asked, his mouth full of bread. “Or did you and Peter eat upstairs?”

“No, we’re out of everything,” Peter said. “We should probably bring an extra bag with us to Astronomy this week so we can store up. Do you think we can get the house-elves to make us Christmas biscuits early?”

“I want some more of these lemon bars,” Remus said, wrapping one in a napkin and stowing it away. “And I think I’ve finally figured out that food preservation charm. Promise, this time I won’t blow up all our pastries.”

“Don’t really have an appetite, I guess,” Sirius said, pushing sprouts around his plate. “I might run to the library before it closes, if that’s alright? O’Brien recommended we check out his book on magical matter displacement if we’re having trouble with our Shrinking Charms.”

James and Remus just shared a look, but Peter actually said his concerns out loud. “But… Sirius, you’re not having trouble with Shrinking Charms.”

“I’ll see you later,” Sirius said, his plate of food vanishing as he got up.

He could hear James whispering something urgent to Peter and Remus as he walked away. All the way out of the Great Hall, Sirius’s hand stayed in his pocket, fingers lightly brushing the letter within.

He hated this. He was sick of moping about not getting letters from home, then actually getting a letter and moping about _that._ But there was nothing to look forward to in this letter. Unless…

He pushed the fantasy away and decided to take his own advice, heading over toward the library. On a Sunday night this early in the term, it would have a handful of panicking students in the main study spots, but be deserted just about everywhere else.

Pushing the double doors on the first floor open, Sirius breezed through the stacks, past a huddle of worried-looking fifth years, and down into the Alchemy section. The class wasn’t being offered this year, so the desks at the end of the row were generally empty — which made it good for the rare occasion where Sirius actually needed to sit down and properly learn something.

He slid into the first chair he saw, taking out the letter and inspecting it carefully. There was little indication of what was inside — his mother hadn’t even wasted the time to put his name on the front. It must have been packaged inside her latest love note to Regulus.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Sirius slid his thumb under the back flap and popped the black wax seal with his mother’s personal crest in it.

_Sirius,_

_Regulus indicated you had some concerns regarding your position in our family. For his sake, I’m writing to provide some clarity._

Sirius rolled his eyes. He certainly hadn’t missed his mother’s “loving” tone.

_You seem to think your sorting into Gryffindor is the single factor that has led to our increasing estrangement. But — while I will admit it has been a great blow to your father and I, both personally and socially — it is not the only factor._

_Before you left for Hogwarts, I already had my concerns about you. Being sorted into Gryffindor has only empowered you to continue acting in ways that this family cannot condone. Associating with half-bloods and families of dubious heritage. Fighting with the heirs to some of the great bloodlines of Britain. General impudence._

_I am no idiot. Were you in Slytherin, or even Ravenclaw, other behaviors, more palatable, might have been cultivated instead. But you are surrounded by other Gryffindors daily, and this only validates your beliefs. As your father and I have learned this summer, attempting some small correction in the handful of months in which you are home is a fool’s errand._

_But I do believe in the power of incentives to change a person, inch by inch. And so I have a proposal for you._

_All summer, your resistance to attend social functions, and sulkiness when forced to do so, has been an embarrassment, and an increasing matter of discussion in our social circle. While Regulus’s acceptance into Slytherin has mitigated some of the damage you’ve done, the recent impudence of that unnamed Mudblood-loving cousin of yours has undone all of his gains, and made us the laughing-stock of the pureblood community._

_This summer may change that. As we have discussed at length, the wedding of your cousin Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange is the most significant social occasion in the recent history of our family, even without taking into account Bellatrix’s great deeds of late in the service of the pureblood cause._

_Your insistence on rejecting your invitation ends now. We never again entertain the notion that you will skip this event. You will attend Bellatrix and Rodolphus’s wedding this July, standing proud and tall as — if not our heir — our eldest son, and a Black._

_This is the price I demand. Pay it, keep to yourself at Hogwarts, and refrain from further shaming us at public events. Do so, and you will be welcomed back into the loving embrace of our family, as you desire._

_I await your reply._

_Mother_

Of course, Sirius thought, disgustedly throwing the letter down on the table. Of course it wasn’t his mother’s cold heart finally thawing. Of course it was a demand wrapped in a request wrapped in a lie. The big lie. The lie that he mattered to them.

But his eyes flickered to the middle of the note.

_“I believe in the power of incentives to change a person, inch by inch.”_

Well, that was what he wanted too, wasn’t it? He wanted his family to change. To become more understanding. More loving. To stop treating him like a Muggle, or a diseased Niffler.

To treat him like he was their son again.

On the other hand, he’d been trying for months to get out of the very thing his mother was asking him to do. Bella had announced her engagement half a year ago, and from the moment he stepped off the train at Platform 9 and 3/4 last June, his mother been pushing him to attend.

Sirius wanted nothing less. Bellatrix was almost a decade older than him, and as far back as he could remember, she’d treated him like nothing more than a thing to practice her cruelty on. One of his earliest memories was of her using her brand-new wand to levitate him around and around in circles until he was sick all over himself. She’d actually been punished for that — couldn’t be irreparably harming the heirs to other pureblood families — but the light chastisement had only made her cleverer, not kinder.

Nowadays, her primary weapon was her words and her wit — or, at least, that was her primary weapon against him. If the rumors he heard were true, she was back to using her wand again. Just on Muggles and Mugglelovers this time.

His mother was right. This would be the biggest social occasion of the year. But not for the wizarding community as a whole. For the pureblood and Death Eater crowd. For the Mulcibers and Averys and Malfoys and Shafiqs and Rosiers of the world. All the people he hated most.

He didn’t want to be anywhere near that. And he’d said so, every time it came up, all summer. He’d spent practically the entire month of July in his room, reading his bloody textbooks. Most of August too, though he and his mother had reached a sort of truce where they just never spoke to each other until something set them off. Then they were screaming, loud enough to shake the walls and scare the house-elves.

But it wasn’t like his mother was asking him to participate in the wedding. Or socialize with the guests. Just be there. Stand with his family for a picture. Make small talk. Not cause a scene.

His mother was giving him an incentive to play nice. So maybe he needed to take her up on it. Because if he refused, there was no chance of things getting better. If he said yes — well, he was giving her an incentive to play nice too. Maybe she could change inch by inch too.

That was all he wanted, if he was being honest. He didn’t expect his mother to suddenly abandon everything she believed in. But if she could change enough to love him again…

That was worth it. Worth suffering through Bella’s wedding.

“I finally have something to thank Regulus for,” he muttered to himself, as he rummaged in his bag for stationery. “He’ll be so bloody surprised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's weird that Remus can read about Tonks's parents getting married in a newspaper while he's in school. Don't blame me, blame JKR's maths teacher.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Sirius's bargain with his mother does not go well. And I think you're going to be impressed with how explosive things are going to get in the Noble and Ancient House of Black this fic. Stay tuned!


	4. Don't Bother Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus has been doing a pretty good job of keeping his friends from noticing his monthly departures from the castle.
> 
> Until now.

“Can’t believe you got tickets to bloody Zeppelin as an early Christmas present,” Remus said, petulantly tossing socks into his trunk. “Your dad is legitimately a miracle worker, Peter.”

Peter beamed from across the dormitory. The other boy had ostensibly come upstairs to pack his things for the trip home tomorrow, but the look on his face had given away the game the minute he came through the door. Not that Remus could blame him. The boys had all begged Nabin to get his cousins to snatch up tickets for them over the holidays — well, all but James, of course — but they’d sold out before the owl even made it back to the East End.

“I wish you guys would actually read these mags with me so I could ask you who’s who,” Sirius said, sneaking copies of _NME_ into the trick compartment of his trunk, safe from the prying eyes of his parents or brother. “You know I mix up Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd.”

“Okay, but Pink Floyd is so, so different, though.”

“Where is it again?” Remus said, interrupting Peter. If he let him go off on another tangent explaining the entire history of Muggle rock music to Sirius, they’d never make it to dinner.

“Some old palace north of the city that they converted into a concert hall,” Peter replied. “I tried to convince my dad to take the Tube, but he’s getting a Portkey set up instead. Saves us a walk up there from the station, I suppose. Did you know—”

James was suddenly coming through the door, talking right over Peter. “Hey Remus, you still have that mail-order book?”

“Um, I guess,” Remus said, reaching into his bag to search for the catalog his father had sent him. “But I’m pretty sure you’re too late. It said in the back they stop taking orders two weeks before Christmas.”

“Never mind then,” James said, flopping down onto his bed. “I’m gonna write my dad back and ask if I can come with him when he goes into London next week to meet some old friends. I spent so much time figuring out what I was gonna get you lot that I totally forgot to get him or my mum anything.”

Remus laughed, while Sirius just rolled his eyes. “You’re such an arse,” the other boy said. “You should appreciate having parents that actually like you most of the time.”

“I’m going into London too, James!” Peter said. “Next week Friday. My dad’s taking me to see Led Zeppelin.”

James just looked at him. “Is that one of your bands, or a weird art project?”

Peter laughed nervously, his hands fidgeting, and that made Remus and the others laugh too.

“He’s joking, Peter,” Remus said. “At least, I think he is.”

James turned slightly to roll his eyes at Remus, then went back to his monologue. “Anyways… Any of you lot have plans before the holiday? If your parents’ll let you, maybe we can run around Diagon Alley together for a little while. I hear there’s a new ice cream shop where Moe B. Montgomery’s Exotic Pet Emporium burned down.”

Remus had plans alright. A date with a full moon on Tuesday night. But at least he was going to get to go home for the Christmas holidays this year. His parents were going to bring him up to Hogsmeade the night before and try to make a day of it — as best you could “make a day” out of a trip to the place where you were going to shapeshift into a feral monster the moment the sun went down.

“I’m just glad I’m allowed to go home,” Sirius said. “So I’d better not rock the boat any further by reminding my parents that I have friends.”

“I would love to come,” Peter said, “but I should talk to my dad first. He’s always making plans for us without telling me when I’m home on break.”

“Fair enough,” James said. “Remus—”

He answered quickly, trying to sound nonchalant. “Depends on the day. If you’re going Thursday, Friday — I’m in. But my parents are dragging me back up here to Hogsmeade for a few days to visit some third cousin of my dad’s. Terrible way to spend the first few days of the hols, right?”

James and Sirius shared a look, and Remus felt his stomach drop out even before Sirius closed his trunk and fixed him with a puzzled look. “Hogsmeade?” he asked. “Remus, I thought you said last month you were spending most of the holiday at St. Mungo’s? For your mum’s operation?”

At his wrists and neck, Remus felt the sudden chill of chains.

* * *

For the first few years, his parents didn’t bother with restraints during his transformations.

Sure, he might have turned into a werewolf every month. But he was a small werewolf. Ferocious, yes. Deadly, yes. But small. And not quite strong enough to break through the protective enchantments his father laid down every time he changed.

It made it a lot easier to seem like a normal kid. Sure, his parents still made him move every six or eight months — just to keep people from getting suspicious — but there was never really any sense of danger.

Sure, changing every full moon was scary, and he was always sore and tired afterward. But his mum always had his favorite biscuits made in the morning. And his dad would always come down into the basement before moonrise, to check the protection spells and read him a bedtime story, even if it was 3 or 4 in the afternoon.

Then, one night, it all changed.

He was 7 when it happened. December 1967, and almost Christmas. There was just the one full moon left — he had it circled on his bedroom calendar — and then he didn’t have to worry about any werewolf business all the way through the holidays.

They were living out near Oxford then — longest they’d stayed in a place since Remus had been bitten. They’d moved about nine months back, right around Remus’s birthday. He could still remember the day vividly: surrounded by moving boxes his dad still hadn’t unpacked, blowing out candles on a tiny but tasty cake straight from Sainsbury’s, a perfectly moonless sky right above.

There was the minor incident where he got the zig-zag scar down his back over the summer — Remus still couldn’t figure out how he might have possibly cut himself so deep — but their house was a bit further back from the others in the neighborhood, up slightly on a hill adjoining a forest. So they’d gotten used to the idea that maybe this could be it. Maybe the three of them could all stay a while, take a rest from the constant worrying. Be a regular family for a little bit.

They were lying to themselves, of course.

In the afternoon, before the incident, Remus had begged off the usual bedtime story from his dad.

“I’m too old for that!” he shouted, through toothy gaps. He’d lost another tooth on Tuesday. It was his third in a row that he’d lost due to natural causes; his seventh total if you counted the four he’d found missing after full moons. He was proud of the record. “Can’t we just play Gobstones? Mark and Levi are always beating me and I don’t have anybody to practice with.”

“All right,” his dad said, conjuring a set from upstairs. “What color do you want this time, gold or silver?”

“Gold,” Remus said with feeling, grabbing his preferred tray.

Remus studied his father’s face as he began drawing the rings for their match on the ground. People always told Remus he looked like Lyall, but it was hard to see with more than 30 years separating them. His father’s hair was the same shade, true, but Remus wore it cut short as he could without showing skin, while his father’s was always slicked back with Sleekeazy’s, cresting straight back to rest just above his shoulders. He had a big, fluffy goatee too, despite Remus’s numerous protests. His mum liked it. Gross.

His dad wasn’t particularly chatty tonight, and Remus wasn’t either. It was hard to pretend that he wasn’t going to transform into a magical beast in a little more than an hour. At least the Gobstones spraying goo into his dad’s face helped.

As Remus leaned over the circles to get a sense of which angle to shoot his next Gobstone, he felt a chill pass through his body, and gasped involuntarily.

“Moonrise?” his father asked.

Remus just nodded. Remus could tell by the amount of sun coming in through the small window that sunset was just beginning, but there must have been enough of the full moon above the horizon for his body to feel it. He’d change soon, once the sun dipped out of sight.

“You’ll be fine,” his father said. “You’ve done this so many times before. And once this is over, we can relax and celebrate the holidays properly.”

“Sure,” Remus said, badly shooting a Gobstone into the circle and back out without hitting anything. “Your move.”

His dad looked at him sadly and took another shot. He missed too. But Remus could always tell when his dad was losing on purpose.

“I think I want to be alone for a bit,” Remus said. “Until I change.”

The comment hurt his father — it was clear as the icky goatee on his face. But he didn’t argue with Remus before a full moon.

“Sure, of course,” he said. “I’ll set up the defensive spells quickly and then head upstairs.”

Remus barely listened to his father as he went around the room, muttering “ _Protego”_ and “ _Repello_ ” here and there. He was sick of this. All this tiptoeing around him. It would be better if his parents just let him be. He already felt half a monster the day of a full moon. Better to just let him be that without pretending everything was fine and keeping him in a safe little bubble.

The door shut behind Remus’s father with a light click, followed by a short series of pops as the last set of protective charms took hold. Remus immediately started to disrobe, getting down to his pants and quickly pulling the ragged bathrobe his parents kept downstairs for him over his goosepimples. His father had charmed it to warm automatically when it was worn. But he still felt a chill, all the way down to his bones. The moon.

There was nothing else to do. Remus sat down on the cement floor, curled up tightly, and waited until the darkness took him.

The last thing he remembered thinking about was the sickly shine of the silver Gobstones, shimmering as his father missed one easy shot after another.

* * *

Remus’s eyes fluttered open to look straight up at his mother. Her blue eyes were wide, and she was pale as a ghost. He knew something had gone terribly wrong even before the pain started to hit him.

“Oh, thank heavens you’re finally awake,” his mother said. “Lyall! Lyall! Get down here!”

Remus started to sit up, but his mother’s hand firmly pushed him down against the cold cement. “Remus, do not move. You could have a concussion, or a internal bleeding, or a—”

“He’s fine.” His father was there; he could hear his voice. “For Merlin’s sake, Hope, I watched the wound close right up as I was dragging him back in. Go back upstairs. We’ve got plenty of work to do.”

His mother slipped out of Remus’s vision. He turned his head slightly to the right, looking directly at his father’s boots. They were covered with mud. And maybe something darker.

His father crouched down beside him, reaching a hand toward his shoulder. “How are you feeling, Remus? Can you sit up?”

“Sure,” Remus said, pulling himself forward. But something was wrong. There was a heaviness to the motion, and a noise he couldn’t identify. Swinging upright overwhelmed him, suddenly, and he leaned away from his father, retching.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lyall said, rubbing Remus’s back as he shook and heaved. “You’ll feel better in a minute. I’d take away the nausea but I don’t dare use a spell on you right now…”

“‘M fine,” Remus muttered, the taste of sick clinging to his tongue. He’d never come back from a change quite like this. He was terribly dizzy, still. And his whole head hurt, but especially under his jaw. It was like something was lodged in his cheek, throbbing throbbing throbbing. And he could feel a new hole in his gums where an incisor had gone missing. So much for his three-tooth winning streak.

“Take a minute,” his dad said, vanishing the puddle next to him. “The longer you’re awake, the better you’ll feel.”

Remus found that hard to believe, but as he felt each minute pass, he discovered his father was right. His face still hurt, but the sick feeling receded bit by bit.

As it did, he suddenly realized there were cold steel cuffs around his wrists, attached to long sturdy chains.

His father noticed his hesitation, and waved his wand quickly, vanishing the bands. “We don’t need those now.”

“You needed them before?” Talking hurt. Then again, so did not talking.

“Yes,” his father said simply. “Can you stand up?”

“I dunno.” To be honest, the idea of raising his head a whole four feet off the ground sounded impossible still, but he wanted to sound brave in front of his dad. “I might need a minute.”

“Okay,” his dad said, coming down to his level and sitting on the floor. “Then let’s talk about what happened while you get your senses back. Sound good?”

“What happened?” Remus said. “What do you mean, what happened?”

Remus’s dad looked over to the left, and Remus followed his gaze. One of the small basement windows was broken out, and a bit of the wall around it was broken out too.

“Is that…did I…”

“Yes,” his father answered. “You got out last night.”

“How?” Remus wracked his brain, knowing he wouldn’t remember anything from last night and trying to nonetheless. “You put up all those charms…”

“You know our next door neighbors, the Dixons? Chris was out on his lawn last night, looking at his fairy lights. One of the strands had gone bad, and he was out there in the dark, unscrewing one bulb after another to figure out what was wrong.

“I was out there too, with him, trying to convince him to go back inside and deal with it in the morning, but he wouldn’t have it. You know how he talks, loud as a thunderstorm. So I didn’t hear you jumping at the window, trying to break out of the basement. Or feel you shatter the protective spells I put around the place.”

“Oh no.”

His dad hesitated a moment. “I…Remus, I wish I didn’t have to tell you the rest. But you’re getting older, and you have to understand. You have to understand.”

And to Remus’s shock and amazement, his father started crying.

“I hit you, Remus. I saw you running straight at the two of us. You were somehow big and little all at once, a terrible bundle of fur and muscle. I remember seeing you transform that first time, right after you were bit, but I hadn’t…I…it was horrible, to see you running toward me. And to have to remember that it _wasn’t_ you, that you weren’t in there, that the mind that was there didn’t care about anything except…

“So I pulled out my wand, used it to uproot one of the Dixons’ trees, and hit you with it. As hard as I dared. And, god, Remus, you went down so fast it nearly killed me. Because I thought…I thought…”

Well, that certainly explained why he felt like he’d been hit by a tree.

“But I saw your chest moving up and down, just a little, and your face putting itself back together, so I knew you were fine. I stunned Chris, so he wouldn’t panic or run away, and then I brought you back into the basement. I just barely got you chained before you woke up.”

Remus suddenly noticed his father wasn’t moving his left arm as he spoke, just his right. His father always used his hands to talk; his mother said if he ever lost one he’d probably lose his powers of speech altogether. But instead, he was holding it tight against his body, and there was a dark splotch over his bicep.

“Dad, did I—”

Remus reached toward his father, and Lyall gasped and pulled back, out of arm’s reach. “I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I mended it myself, before the Ministry officials got here. Should have waited — you know as well as anyone that I’m no Healer — it’ll be sore for a while.”

“Ministry?” Remus faintly remembered going to the offices in London, right after he was bitten. Everyone there had given him the strangest looks.

“Obliviators, mostly. For the Dixons. And everyone else, of course.”

Remus thought he must have misheard his father. Maybe he was still dizzy from the blow.

“What do you mean everyone else?” Remus said. “Did someone else see me? See what happened?”

“Of course not, Remus, but…” His father bit his lip, thinking. “Remus, we’re going to have to leave.”

Oh.

He should have known, of course. They’d left town over far less than this. But he’d gotten used to Oxford. He had friends, almost. And it was Christmas. He’d been really looking forward to Christmas.

But there was still one thing that didn’t make sense.

“I still don’t understand,” Remus said, starting to pull himself up to his feet. “Who else do the Oblib—Ob—memory people have to talk to besides the Dixons?”

Remus’s father reached out a hand to help him up. “They’re talking to everyone, Remus.”

Remus’s hand tightened around his father’s arm, and he could see the man’s face change instantly.

“Everyone?!”

“Remus,” his father said slowly, reluctantly. “You know when we leave a place, you have to give up all of your friends. And you can’t write to them anymore, or visit.”

“Of course,” he said. “But…I thought…”

“We have to keep who you are a secret, Remus. Not just from Muggles. The Obliviators are going to be visiting the wizarding families in this town too. Your friends — Mark Comstock, Levi Forman — they can’t remember you were here.”

“But why?” Remus shouted, starting to cry. “We’re leaving. They’re not in any danger anymore if I’m not here. Can’t they even remember me?”

“No,” his father said, suddenly stern. “You’re not safe if they remember.”

“What?”

“Remus.” His father bent down, looking right in his eyes. “Those boys don’t know you’re a werewolf today. But if they remember you, they could find out one day. And that might put you in danger. Not them.”

“Me?”

“The Ministry has records that you are a werewolf, but no one else. And, for a number of reasons, they would like to keep it that way. It’s a sentiment I very much agree with.

“If people find out you’re a werewolf, Remus, you will be hated. Maybe even hunted. Because the wizarding world out there is afraid of you. They know the kind of creature you turn into under the light of a full moon, and so they think they don’t need to know anything about who you are the rest of the month. And I never want you to be in any danger from those people.

“So the Oblivators are out in Oxford, erasing even the memory of us being here from this town, and we are going to finish packing our things and leave. That’s what we have to do to protect our family.”

“But it’s not fair!” Remus said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident! And now we have to make all the sacrifices, to make these people safe. To make the Ministry feel better.”

“Exactly,” his father replied. “Remus, you are a wonderful boy, and I want to keep you that way. But you are also wonderfully dangerous.

“So the best way to protect yourself from the people who want to hurt you, is to do whatever it takes to protect the people who want to hurt you from yourself. Erase their memories. Move hundreds of miles away. And…”

His father trailed off, and Remus felt a pit in his stomach.

“And chains, from now on. I think you’re too big for protective spells alone, Remus.”

Remus could already feel the weight of them around his wrists again.

“Everyone will be safer. And then so will you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Remus said, tears streaming from his face. “Can I go pack my things now?”

“Of course,” his father said. He absent-mindedly ruffled Remus’s short hair with a sad expression on his face. “Go on, hurry. I think your mother’s already started. We’re going to be on our way in a half-hour. I’ve gotten us a small cottage out west, a little outside Bristol. Not too far a move, so we’ll be taking the car. Just make sure you don’t forget anything — we’re not coming back.”

“I know,” Remus said, pushing past his father and hurrying upstairs to help his mother with his trunk.

The drive itself only took an hour or two. Remus didn’t stop crying for three.

* * *

Remus was so stunned by Sirius’s question, he accidentally let Peter get a word in edgewise.

“Sirius, that’s rude,” he said. Somehow, Peter looked like he was the one who was about to start crying. “You know Remus doesn’t like to talk about his mum’s…you know…”

“I mean, right,” Sirius said. “But I specifically remember… We were down in the kitchen, after Astronomy. Snack run, and all. And Remus, you said something about your last visit being sort of a pre-check up for some surgery she was getting right before Christmas.”

He remembered now too. They had been talking about their plans for the holidays, and it had caught Remus off guard. “Mum in hospital” seemed like the sort of thing that would give the impression he wasn’t available to visit.

Apparently too much of an impression.

“I, uh…” Flustered as he was, Remus tried to change the subject. “James, I thought you were going to invite me to come with you.”

“Well, no,” James said. “Because I figured you would be at Mungo’s. Like you said.”

“So wait, is this good news? Is your mum okay?” Sirius asked. “Remember: The Noble House of Black doesn’t do hospitals, so…”

“That would make sense!” Peter squeaked, before Remus could say anything. “If your mum’s doing better, it makes sense that you’d want a vacation!”

“Hogsmeade is hardly a vacation,” James said, “and Mungo’s wouldn’t just call off something that serious unless something changed. Did something change, Remus?”

They all stopped talking for a moment, long enough for Remus to try and think.

He’d screwed up. That was the core of it all. He’d forgotten what lies he had told his friends — the thing he had tried to train himself not to do, the thing he’d thought about over and over again for most of his first year. And now he’d told them two different stories about what he was doing on Tuesday night and they didn’t match up at all.

He couldn’t just bail — run out of the room and pretend like this conversation never happened. That would make them all even more suspicious. And tomorrow they were all getting on the Hogwarts Express, where they could just corner him again.

He couldn’t really double down on one or the other of his stories either. If his mum was going into St. Mungo’s, it didn’t make sense why he wouldn’t tell them that now. If they were going to Hogsmeade, there wasn’t really a good reason why he’d pretended she had an operation scheduled, or why that imaginary operation had been cancelled.

The option that scared him most was the simplest: He could tell them the truth.

He could tell James, Sirius and Peter that he’d been lying to them practically since the day they met. But he had a good reason. He was a werewolf. Every month, when the sun set and the full moon shone down on his body, he transformed into a hideous monster, not safe to be around. He’d just made up the lie about his mum to keep from telling them, but he’d screwed up, and they deserved to know the truth.

He just couldn’t make himself believe they would still care about him afterward.

That meant he had only one real choice left.

“Are you all serious?!” Remus shouted.

The others all flinched in surprise. Remus couldn’t remember the last time he’d raised his voice at his friends, and it seemed they couldn’t either. This close to the full moon, there was more bite in it than he’d meant to use. That was alright. It helped.

“Remus—” James started.

“No.” He cut him off right away, hard. “You don’t get to talk now. You keeping track of where I’m going, where I’m coming from? Somehow you know everybody’s business these days, James. You’ve got all this info on what the teachers are whispering about and which seventh years are snogging which sixth years but what you don’t have is any idea where the bloody line is.”

“Merlin’s beard, Remus—”

“That’s not fair,” Sirius said. “I was the one who said something. Don’t be angry with James.”

“I’ll be angry with whomever I want!” Remus forced himself off the bed and to his feet, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. “I’m angry at him, and I’m angry at you, and sure, I’m a little angry at Peter too, just for sitting here and bobbing his head back and forth like he can be on both sides of the fight at once.”

Peter shrank back like Remus had walked over and slapped him. It turned his stomach. But he kept going.

“You have no idea what it’s like to see you all watching me all the time, like I’m the sick one. Makes me wonder how you’d look at me if I was, you know? If this is how you are when my mum’s sick, dying probably, what should I look forward to if I’m ever the one with the disease?”

His head was spinning. Before he blacked out every month, there was a moment where Remus and the monster inside him overlapped, and his mind would whirl in a wave of panic and rage and hunger. This was like that, without the darkness after to wipe it all away.

James’s face was bright red, and he looked like he was trying to choke back something on the tip of his tongue. Sirius and Peter just looked sad and miserable.

“I’m sorry I said anything,” Sirius finally said, with a sidelong glance at James. “We didn’t mean to upset you, Remus. We’re just worried about you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Remus spat. “Questioning everything I say. Making me feel like some sort of criminal.”

“That’s not what we’re bloody doing, Remus,” James finally shouted. “You’re being such an arse you’re not even listening to us!”

Perfect. That’s just the right amount of anger back.

“You know what,” Remus yelled, the wolf in him howling with delight, “I don’t have to listen to this. I need to pack so I can get on the train tomorrow and see my family. You know, the family I might not even have next year.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” James spat back. “Your mum’s been sick since before you came to Hogwarts. She’s not going to drop dead tomorrow just to spite me.”

Perfect.

Remus let his voice truly growl, just this once. “Get. The Hell. Out of here. Before I come over there and tear you apart with my bare hands.”

They did. All three of them, without another word. James first, of course, storming out like he was the injured party. Which, Remus supposed, he was, even if he didn’t know it.

Remus slowly sat back down on his bed, trying to slow down his breathing and fidgeting with the last pair of socks he was bringing home. Do whatever it takes, his dad had told him. Whatever it takes to protect yourself.

This was “whatever it takes” material, to be sure. Remus couldn’t tell if it was good or terrible that the holidays started tomorrow. Maybe James and the others would go home for two weeks and come back feeling sorry, and willing to apologize. Or maybe they’d decide they didn’t really need a third best friend.

If he was going to burn it all down, at least he’d still have his secret.

It was safer to be alone. For him, and everyone else.


	5. Little Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things haven't been the same for the boys since Remus's outburst before Christmas, but Peter doesn't have time to worry about that. He's too busy pretending the weird thing he saw his dad doing at the Led Zeppelin concert doesn't matter...

To call the train ride back to Hogwarts awkward would have been an understatement.

Peter hadn’t written the boys any letters over the hols. He hadn’t even asked his dad about taking him into London to meet James. After Remus’s blow-up the day before they left, he’d thought it best to just wait it out, see how things were.

He realized what a colossal mistake he’d made as soon as he saw Remus, sitting by himself in a train compartment.

“Peter,” Remus said, looking up at him with wide eyes. He looked much less peaky than before Christmas, but his clothes were somehow more disheveled. It looked as though he’d grabbed something off the floor and thrown his wrinkliest robes over it.

_(Knowing Remus, that might actually have been what happened.)_

“How was your holidays?” Remus continued quickly, a stiff smile on his face. “Any good presents? You get the Chocolate Frogs I sent you?”

For an instant, Peter froze, running possibilities through his brain. He’d thought he was being smart, not communicating with any of the other three boys. If he didn’t ask anyone if they were all still fighting, he wouldn’t prompt them to start fighting again.

But he hadn’t considered the possibility of running into one of them alone, before the others.

_(You should have. James and Sirius are always terribly late. Remus has probably been here for a half-hour.)_

He couldn’t ask Remus if he’d made up with James and Sirius yet. It was obvious that was a bad idea either way.

But if he went in, and pretended like everything was normal, and it wasn’t…

What would his dad do?

_(Say he was doing one thing, then do the other thing, and leave you totally blindsided, probably.)_

That didn’t help.

“I-I did,” he finally stammered out, lifting Ringo’s cage into the overhead and gingerly stepping into the compartment. He sat opposite Remus, awkwardly holding his trunk between his knees, both hands clutched tight on the handle. “Thanks a bunch. You got the book I sent?”

“Of course!” Remus reached into his bag and pulled out the very copy of _Muggle Minister, Magic Minister_ that Peter had sent Ringo off with last week.

_(Poor little guy didn’t look like he was going to make it. That book must have weighed two stone.)_

Peter tried to look inside Remus’s bag subtly, to see if there was a gift from James or Sirius in there too.

“I’m already two or three chapters in,” Remus said. “Bless you for being the only person I know who isn’t afraid to get me a book they think is boring. I’ve been eyeing this ever since I caught that interview on the wireless with Giuseppe Gorgondas about writing it from a Norwegian ice lodge.”

“I don’t think it’s boring, actually,” Peter lied. “I flipped through a little of it before wrapping it up for you. Did you know my mum’s related to some Minister for Magic from a hundred years ‘r so back? Douglas McPhail, I think.”

“Dugald!” Remus corrected, flipping through the book eagerly. “I’m not there yet but I think Gorgondas mentioned him in his preface. Isn’t he the one who—”

Peter never found out what his ancestor had or hadn’t done to impress Remus so much. The other boy stopped talking midsentence, looking at something in the corridor.

When Peter turned his head, James and Sirius were standing in the hall outside the compartment. And it was immediately clear from their faces that they had not, in fact, made up with Remus.

“Hey Peter.” James said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Remus.”

_(Why didn’t you wait on the platform until you saw one of the boys, you bloody fool?)_

Peter didn’t know if he should slide down to let James and Sirius in or spring up to find another compartment with them. But either way, he was going to have to make a decision. He didn’t really feel like Remus had done that much wrong to justify getting the eternal cold shoulder. But was he going to stand up against both James and Sirius? All in all, it made more sense to—

“I’m sorry,” Remus said.

_(Oh?)_

“I know that the last time we all talked, I sort of lost it,” Remus continued. Peter couldn’t quite read James or Sirius’s expressions. “That was…I wish I had handled that better. I’ve been sick about it all holiday. Spent the whole time writing and throwing out and rewriting letters to both of you. All three of you. But in the end I just figured I needed to apologize in person.”

“You can say that again,” James growled.

“And I will,” Remus replied quickly, “as much as you need me to.”

Peter held his breath as Remus and James stared each other down. The latter didn’t look as much angry as…inquisitive. Like he was trying to figure out some riddle.

Sirius leaned forward and whispered something in James’s ear.

_(Strange of him to be so quiet.)_

“You’re right,” James said back, before looking at Remus again. “We’re sorry too. We… _I_ was out of line. Family is off-limits.”

“Unless it’s mine,” Sirius finally piped up. “You all can say as many mean things as you want about all of them.”

They had all laughed at that, even Remus. So then Peter slid down and passed his trunk back to Sirius, who followed James in as the train started moving. And they started talking about the holidays as if nothing had happened.

Except it had. And their apologies hadn’t made it go away. Not even close.

* * *

It took only five minutes after Remus went up to bed for James and Sirius to turn the conversation back to the fight. Peter was surprised. He’d thought they’d at least make small talk for 10 or 15 minutes.

“So we can agree that things are not good with Lupin,” James muttered, leaning in toward Peter and Sirius like they were Aurors on a stakeout.

Peter didn’t know what to say, but Sirius saved him from having to make up some answer.

“Mate, we talked about this.”

_(When?)_

“You and I were both too hard on him,” Sirius continued. “It’s not like he’s keeping state secrets. He’s allowed to tell us as much or as little about his mum as he wants.”

“But that’s just it,” James said. “Somehow he’s telling us ‘as much’ and ‘as little’ at the same time. His mum’s sick. But they don’t know what’s wrong. But they do know it’s not magic. But they also don’t want to treat her at a Muggle hospital. And then he’s always leaving the castle. No one does that. Julie Queshire’s entire family was murdered four months ago, and somehow she still made it back to the castle in time for breakfast Monday morning.”

“I mean, it’s not like there was much Julie could do,” Peter said hesitantly. “Remus’s mum is alive, so they can at least visit. With Julie—”

Sirius gave him a withering glance. “Pettigrew, are you for real?”

“Anyway,” James said, glaring at the both of them, “he got way too angry in our fight. He either lied about his plans with his family or admitted to lying a couple weeks earlier, and then when we called him on it, he went berserk.”

“That’s what the fight was to _you_ ,” Sirius said. “For him, it was you getting angry at him for hanging out with his sick mum instead of you. I’d be pissed too, if my mum wasn’t basically a Dungbomb wearing increasingly gaudy necklaces.”

_(Wait, when did Sirius Black start thinking about someone other than himself?)_

James looked ready to say something else, but Sirius cut him off. “Look, James…I get it. I don’t understand what made Remus freak out either. But we’re his friends, remember? Maybe we should just… I dunno… trust that he’s doing what’s best for himself, and not actively trying to hurt our feelings?”

For a few moments, James just worried a thread on his robes instead of replying. Then he nodded, and Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Alright. I’m just… I feel like we can’t do anything to help. And it sucked not talking to him all Christmas.”

“Agreed,” Sirius said. “You sent him the box of Shock-o-Choc though, right?”

“I thought it would be too passive-aggressive,” James said, frowning. “Spicy electric chocolate, mid-fight? Figured we’d never speak again. So I swapped it out for one of my own gifts from under the tree without opening it. Turns out my dad got me an enchanted razor.”

Peter burst out laughing before he could stop himself. It was the first thing he’d heard since starting back toward Hogwarts that didn’t make him want to curl up into a ball and hide away forever.

Sirius laughed too, and James along with him, though the younger boy was blushing bright red. “It’s not funny,” James said, giggling. “It’s already embarrassing enough that my dad got me a _razor_ for Christmas. When I didn’t pull it out from under the tree, he made me spend the rest of the day searching the house for Nifflers. I had to clean out corners of my house I’ve never even seen before!”

“Serves you right,” Sirius said. “Next time, don’t buy presents that could be mistaken for insults. I didn’t yell at you at all before Christmas, and there I am on December 25, unwrapping my very own pack of Whizzing Worms. Good thing you included a note saying they were for Regulus and Walburga. They did not enjoy their holiday punch.”

“Hey, Pete,” James said, changing the subject. “I forgot to ask. How’d your trip into London with your dad go?”

_(Awful. Worse than awful.)_

“It was fine,” Peter said, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Led Zeppelin was a little underwhelming, is all.”

“Well I’m not surprised,” Sirius said. “They sound so…what’s that word you used the other time? Produced?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

_(Not really. Not like that would have been a problem anyway. Not like that_ was _the problem.)_

“Do you think I should go say something to Remus, before Jack and Nabin head up?” James was looking over at the other two boys, who were laughing at some foolish thing Helena Quickley had said.

“Let’s let it be,” Sirius said. “I think we’ve had enough drama for today, don’t you?”

James laughed, a sharp sudden bark. “Well if Sirius doesn’t want to be dramatic,” he said, nudging Peter with his elbow, “I guess we should know better than to start something without him.”

Peter heartily agreed. He was just glad to be back at Hogwarts. Away from…whatever home was now.

* * *

It took a lot of fortitude to roll out of bed for Defense Against the Dark Arts the next morning, but eventually Peter found himself sleepwalking down to the fifth floor with Sirius, who’d proved equally resistant to being roused.

“Which room did Egg say it was again?”

“5A,” Peter replied, trying to get his bearings. “Here, this is 5D, so it must be further down to the right.”

At the end of last term, Professor Egg had given them all a long list of spells to read up on, and then told them their first class after the holidays would be in a different classroom on the fifth floor.

“As useful as this classroom is for spellwork,” he’d said, gesturing to the wide open space behind him, “I think we need somewhere a little more unfamiliar for our next lesson.”

The room turned out to be large and square, mostly empty when Sirius and Peter walked in. All around the room, Egg had arranged a row of mismatched, brightly colored pillows in various sizes. He was absent-mindedly fluffing one as the boys walked in. It was a surprisingly casual gesture from the otherwise-militantly straitlaced professor.

“Early today,” he said as they walked in. “Excited to be back in class, or did you sleep through breakfast?”

“The first one,” Peter lied.

“The second.” Sirius spoke a half-instant behind Peter, then blushed with embarrassment.

_(How Sirius ever thought he was getting into Slytherin is beyond me.)_

Egg just laughed. “Well, whichever one it is, get comfortable. I’m sure your classmates will be here momentarily.”

Their professor gestured at the pillows, so Peter headed to his right, Sirius trailing behind. He beelined it for one of the largest, puffiest pillows; Sirius collapsed down onto a beaded turquoise one that rustled every time he shifted his body.

“All right, what do you think, Peter?” Sirius said. “The pillows get transfigured into hippogriffs and try to kill us? Or we have to guess which ones are hiding a legion of doxies?”

“It’s probably that hideous lumpy green one,” Peter said, tilting his head toward the offending cushion. “Maybe we can get Helena or Mina to sit on it.”

“I’ll just tell them not to,” Sirius replied. “I can always count on them doing whatever I don’t want.”

Beatrix Bellicose ended up coming in first and taking it, though, with her friends Lily and Mary on either side. James and Remus weren’t too far behind, coming over to him and Sirius with a quick wave.

“Missed you downstairs, you lazys,” James said. “Lucky Remus and me are nice and brought you breakfast.”

Remus was already taking apples out of his pockets and lobbing them underhand. Peter just barely caught his.

“Thanks, guys,” he said, rubbing it clean with his sleeve. “I might have made it on time but Sirius was still snoring when I got out of the shower and I figured I’d be a gentleman and wake him up.”

“Classic mistake,” Remus said, elbowing Sirius. “Thanks for taking one of the team this time around.”

Egg didn’t waste much time; as soon as the rest of the Gryffindor students filed in, he drew his wand from within his robes and swung the door shut behind them with a flick of his wrist. “Alright, settle in, everyone. We’ve got a lot to get through today, so grab a pillow.”

_(There better be a good reason we’re going to spend the whole class sitting on the floor.)_

“So,” Egg continued, “at the end of last term, I gave you a few spells to read up on in your new textbook — which, hopefully, you all did. Today, we’ll be practicing the simplest and most practical of them: the General Counter-Spell.

“In _Shields, Spells and Shadows_ , Bromwell Genovici writes that ‘the General Counter-Spell is the simplest way to undo anything except death, taxes, and in-laws.’ He’s exaggerating, of course, but only slightly: In your daily life, there’s very few spells you’ll come across that can’t be undone by a simple _Finite Incantatem_ , and it’s absolutely invaluable if you’re in a high-pressure, dangerous situation. Often, we wizards try to find the perfect, tailor-made spell for a situation — but sometimes the simplest tool can also be the best.

“Of course — like many spells — there’s a catch. You can’t just wave your wand, mutter ‘ _finite,_ ’ and be done with it. This spell needs focus to work. Clear, deliberate focus. Or enough raw power to overwhelm your opponent’s charms. And since there’s no way you can guarantee in a duel that you’ll be physically stronger than your enemy, relying on muscle alone could mean your death.”

_(Okay, Mordicus Egg is officially the most dramatic professor at this school, and Apollo Sargus made us all roar at the sky like lions during the Leonid meteor shower last year.)_

“That’s why we’re all here,” Egg said, gesturing around the room. “One by one, you’re going to take turns standing in the center of the circle. After I give you a verbal go, five pillows are going to come flying at you one by one, charmed by me. You won’t know which, but they’ll each ding as soon as they start to move. You’ll have a few minutes to turn and cast the General Counter-Spell — or you’ll get hit in the face with a pillow in front of all your classmates.”

Beatrix and Lily immediately burst into giggles, the former nudging Mary McDonald repeatedly as she covered her face with her hands. Egg smiled, not unkindly.

“Yes, the goal is for this to be embarrassing. In my experience, it’s much more motivating than the suggestion of actual peril, which is never truly believed in a classroom setting.”

“So all we have to do is keep the pillows from hitting us in the face?” Sirius whispered to Peter. “That seems easy.”

“It won’t be,” Remus interjected before Peter could respond. “Watch. It’s just going to take one miss to totally throw people off.”

Remus didn’t have to wait long to be proven right. Mina Dawlish was the first to go up, as unrealistically confident in her abilities as ever.

“I’m ready,” she said, tying her dark brown hair back with a red ribbon and drawing her wand. “Is there going to be a ‘go,’ or…”

Egg was standing across the room, outside the ring of pillows, and he waved his wand in an arc in front of him, wordlessly. As soon as he did, Peter saw something seem to settle atop five of the pillows. An almost-shimmer. Something he knew the rest of his classmates couldn’t see.

Then one of the five launched itself off the ground with the ring of a bell, straight at Mina.

She screamed, ducking down as the pillow arched over her head and her classmates all began laughing. The next pillow came from her right, and she tried to stand in time.

“ _Fini—”_

Too late. The pillow collided with Mina’s face, and she staggered back. More laughter, and another two pillows, neither of which she saw coming. She managed to recover her composure just in time for the last one, but while she managed to fully get “ _Finite_ ” out, it didn’t do anything but slow the final pillow down enough so it just lightly bumped her in the face instead of knocking her over.

“Brave attempt, Mina,” Egg said, talking over the dull roar of delighted students. “Five points to Gryffindor for volunteering sight unseen. Jack, perhaps you think you can do better?”

Jack had been muttering something to Nabin while Mina was going back to her seat, but now he went pale. “Um, sure,” he said, getting up to his feet and trying to put on a brave face for the girls.

“That was certainly amusing,” James whispered, as Egg was moving all the pillows back to their original places. “Any ideas on how to not look as stupid as that?”

“Like I said,” Remus replied. “You miss one, it throws off your whole rhythm. We can’t just stand there, waiting. As soon as you hear that ding, just turn around, fast as you can, and cast the Counter-Spell. Without even looking, maybe.”

“Or at least take a blow better than Madame Dawlish,” Sirius grumbled.

Peter had stopped listening. He was watching the almost-shimmer dissolve from the first five pillows. Egg waved his wand again, and Peter saw the same thing atop one, two, three, four…

_(Just four this time?)_

Then he realized the fifth pillow was the one right next to him, a square burgundy cushion with gold fringe. Instinctively, he slid over to the left, closer to Sirius, so it wouldn’t accidentally hit him when it flew up to brain Jack.

When he looked up, he saw Mordicus Egg looking directly at him, one eyebrow raised.

_(Shite._ )

A bell rang out, and Peter watched Egg’s gaze shift back to Jack, who was presently getting his perfect hair ruined by a round blue cushion with silver piping. Peter felt like the one who’d been hit in the face though.

_(You’re over-reacting. There’s literally no way he could suspect anything unusual. You just moved closer to Sirius. Not like you screamed “Why look, this pillow is clearly enchanted, because I’m a freak who can see when magic’s been used on objects.” That would have been really obvious.)_

It didn’t make it any easier to focus on the rest of Jack’s humiliation, though, or Nabin’s, though he did remember to applaud when Beatrix managed to get two out of the five. James was next, and managed to get the first three counter-charmed, though the fourth knocked his glasses off, and that pretty much ended his chances. It was the record to beat, though, with Remus and Lily the only students who even managed to tie it.

“Alright, who’s left?” Egg said, after the applause died down for Lily. “Peter. You haven’t gone yet, right?”

“Um, sure,” he said, getting to his feet. As he stood in the center of the room, he realized his hand was shaking. It made his wand look like jelly, the vinewood shivering back and forth.

_(Get it together, you human disaster.)_

Peter turned in a circle, slowly. The enchantments had shifted; he could see all five of the pillows that Egg would throw at him now. He shouldn’t be able to, of course. He should be as blind as everyone else. But he wasn’t. What was he supposed to—

A bell rang from behind him, and Peter spun around without thinking. “ _Finite Incantatem!_ ”

He’d cast the spell blind, practically, but his aim was true. A bright flash of red light shot out of his wand, dropping a giant blue pillow like a stone.

To his right, he heard James laugh with surprise and delight, and one of the girls let out a little cheer. None of the others had been that good, he realized. They’d saved their skins just in time, an instant before getting hit. His pillow was a good meter back.

It made him feel electric.

Another ding came from just over his left shoulder, and Peter pivoted, his wand arm moving in a blink to point directly at the cylindrical poof he’d seen there a few moments before. “ _Finite!_ ”

That one dropped too, and Peter kept circling. There were only three left, and if he turned just so, he could see two of them at once—

_(There it is, the red one!)_

“ _Finite!”_

That one came in low, but Peter was watching it move, so he had enough time to adjust his aim. The pillow’s trajectory changed in an instant, dropping and skidding along the floor. The boys were cheering now, too.

_(That’s James’s record now. One more, and you beat it. Two more, and…)_

This time, Peter shifted a little to the right. He could almost see both of the pillows now, in his peripheral, and his eyes flicked back and forth between them. The wait felt eternal, torturous.

Then the ding, from the blue pillow that had hit Mina first and started this whole day off. It was on his left, the harder turn to make.

Peter made it anyway. The pillow was just about to hit him, but he got his wand up in time. “ _Finite!”_

This time, the pillow even ricocheted, arcing away in the opposite direction. Everyone was cheering him now, on the edge of their cushions, hands clapping erratically but furiously.

_(One more left. One more.)_

Then Peter saw Professor Egg again. Watching him. Not like he’d watched all the other students — a little bored, studying the motion of their wand arm, their reflexes. Watching him like he wasn’t surprised a bit to see Peter succeeding.

It felt amazing, to have someone looking at him like he was worth something.

But it wasn’t amazing. It was dangerous. Terribly dangerous.

Peter heard the ding. The fifth pillow was almost directly behind him, mustard-yellow, with pointed, hard-looking corners and not nearly enough feathers in it.

He let it hit him anyway.

“Aww!”

Peter’s heart fluttered a little at the sound of his housemates’ disappointment. He could have done it, he realized. Spun a little faster, had his wand at the ready instead of leaving it at his side until the pillow was already too close to counter-charm.

But he had to be smarter than that. His dad had told him. His gift was lucky, wonderful. As long as it stayed a secret.

If he had to take a pillow to the face every once in a while… It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“Nice work, Peter,” he heard Egg saying. “Exemplary.”

“Thanks,” Peter muttered, quickly slipping out of the circle and back over to the boys, who were still applauding him as he came over.

“Alright,” Egg said. “Just two of you left. Sirius, Daisy, which of you wants to go next?”

“I will,” Sirius said, hopping to his feet. “If that’s cool with you, Daisy?” He clapped Peter on the shoulder as he passed, grinning fiercely.

He had reason to grin — as Peter watched, Sirius counter-charmed four pillows of his own, amid cheers louder than Peter had earned. Daisy couldn’t quite do the same, but after two misses she seemed to get the hang of it, blasting the other three out of the air with gusto.

_(Impressive, what people who aren’t accidentally cheating can do_.)

“Great work, everyone,” Egg said, as he repositioned the last set of pillows. “You’ve all done very well, considering this is your first time using the General Counter-Spell in a high-pressure situation. You’ll want to keep practicing this throughout the term amongst yourselves — this is one of the most important charms you’ll learn in your time here, and you will definitely be tested on it again at the end of the year.”

He pulled up the sleeve of his robe, studying a black wristwatch. “I think that’s all for today. Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be back in our usual classroom, where I’ll be handing back your term papers on Britonic sprites. Please come having re-read the portion of Chapter 3 dealing with the Disarming Charm. We’ll be discussing that as well as some other practical implications of the General Counter-Spell.”

Peter and the others were already on their feet and shuffling out of the room when Egg spoke again.

“Oh, and Peter,” he said, barely making it sound like an afterthought, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind staying after for a moment. I did have a question or two for you about your term paper.”

_(He does not want to know about my term paper.)_

James, Remus, and Sirius looked at him oddly, but Peter just waved them off. “I’ll catch up in a bit.” He did not like the way his voice sounded. Shaky and brittle. Like he was about to break.

The others didn’t seem to hear it though. They went off with smiles and a laugh and left him there with Mordicus Egg.

_(Typical.)_

“Peter, let’s have a seat.” As Peter turned around, he saw Professor Egg transfiguring a half dozen of the pillows into a full sitting room set, complete with a hideous ottoman. He sat in one of the two armchairs, and gestured to the other.

There was nothing to do but sit down. Anything else would have been terribly suspicious. But he wasn’t going to say anything until Egg spoke first.

For a moment, it felt like he was going to have to wait ages — Egg was staring at him with that damn eyebrow cocked again. But then his professor plunged into it, folding his hands together and pressing his index fingers against his short beard as he spoke.

“Peter, I have to confess that I didn’t call you in to talk about your term paper. But you should know it was very well-written. From what I can tell, you’ve made considerable strides in this subject since Professor Lexington’s departure.”

_(That’s because Professor Lexington was a garbage teacher by comparison.)_

“Thanks,” Peter said, cautiously.

“I actually wanted to talk about how you did today. How _well_ you did today.”

Peter interrupted quickly. “Sirius did just as well as me. Maybe better. I messed up at the very end but he missed one in the middle and didn’t get thrown off.”

Egg just smiled, lifting one hand to his temple and rubbing it, like Peter was some brewing migraine to him. “That’s true, and a good evaluation of your friend’s skills. But Sirius always does quite well in the real-world scenarios I set up. I imagine you’ve noticed that as well.”

Peter didn’t say anything, sensing a trap.

“Not to say, of course, that you’re untalented, Peter. In fact, you and your friends are all especially gifted. You have a great deal of raw talent between the four of you, if not yet the discipline to focus that talent in a classroom setting. And, I imagine, you all work well together — covering each other’s weaknesses, or allowing each other to shine when appropriate.

“But you, Peter, do your absolute best under very specific circumstances. Circumstances like those I set up today, in our exercise with these charmed pillows.”

_(Careful…)_

“I had thought myself to be imagining it, but… No, let me try a different tack.”

Something changed in Egg’s face. He seemed to shuffle off some of his poise, and his whole body language changed as he leaned in a little closer to Peter. It reminded him of his father.

“Peter, do you know what I did before I joined the Hogwarts faculty, as the Muggle Studies professor?”

“No,” Peter said. “I don’t think so.”

“I was with the Muggle Liaison Office, for the Ministry. Started out doing a lot of grunt work — covering minor memory modifications, drafting press releases ‘explaining’ magical incidents, boring stuff like that. But eventually I worked my way up to become a field agent. That meant I was out in the Muggle world, keeping tabs on the places where our worlds overlapped.

“The Ministry doesn’t like to talk about this, because it puts them in danger of breaking the International Statute of Secrecy, but there are more than a handful of Muggles who know about us. There are probably dozens, if not hundreds, in England alone, much less the rest of the Isles. They’re the families, and occasionally close friends, of wizards, and part of my job was to make sure they never felt compelled to reveal the truth about our world to the rest of the Muggle community.

“The trick was to remind them that they were keeping this secret for the very best of reasons — that wizard or witch in their life who they had ties to. And 99 percent of the time, that was all it took. I’ve watched people lie for those they love thousands of times over the years, and eventually you get to knowing what it looks like.

“So I know that you already know why we’re talking, Peter, and I know that you’ve promised someone important — presumably your parents — that you’ll keep it a secret. But I know, Peter. I know that you’re Sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Peter heard Egg place the deliberate capital letter on the word, but it sounded funny on his lips. Funnier still to say it aloud at all. But it was clear what Mordicus Egg meant. There was no going back now.

“And whatever your parents have told you, Peter, there’s no reason you have to keep it a secret. It’s a perfectly natural skill.”

“My dad,” Peter clarified. “My mum doesn’t know.”

“Oh, that’s — well, that’s neither here nor there,” Egg said. “So you and your father have talked about this, then?”

“Not really,” he said, looking down at his feet. “One time, when I was little, I accidentally undid a Freezing Charm on my mum’s tea set. I told him about… Well, I told him I could see the spell on top of the other spell, the one that made the tea set move about. He said he’d never heard of anything like it, but that I should keep it to myself. Said any advantage I had over the rest of the world was three times as good if it was a secret.”

To Peter’s surprise, that made Egg laugh, shaking his head back and forth and mumbling under his breath. “Oh, yes, that does sound like something your father would say…”

_(What?)_

“Never mind,” Egg said quickly. “We’re talking about you, not your father. And you, Peter, do have a distinct advantage — although not, perhaps, as unique as your father may have led you to believe.”

“Oh.” Peter felt a little something deflate in his chest.

“Believe me,” Egg continued, “it’s no surprise your father hadn’t heard of it. It’s exceedingly rare — one in a thousand wizards has it, maybe less. My best friend when I was here at Hogwarts was Sensitive, but not a single professor we had ever mentioned it in class.

“But it’s simplest to explain in reverse. You’ve heard of Squibs, I imagine?”

“Of course,” Peter said.

“Squibs are born of magical bloodlines, but through no fault of their own, have no magical talent to speak of. But they retain a sort of affinity with magical creatures and objects — they can sense them, even without magic.

“You’re the opposite, Peter. You were born with magic, of course, but you have that same affinity as well, amplified by your ability to actually cast spells. That’s the Sensitivity. You’re not just able to channel magic yourself. You can see when others have done so, and the mark they’ve left on the world around you. You can see the Freezing Charm on top of your mother’s tea set, for example. Or each one of the pillows that I’ve enchanted, long before they come flying your way. That’s why you moved out of the way of the pillow beside you when I charmed it, and why you knew where each of the five pillows were coming from.”

The way Professor Egg was explaining it all made sense. He’d always been curious about why no one else could see what he could — and why his ability to see enchanted objects didn’t translate into him actually being any better at magic. Most of the other boys could charm circles around him, but Egg was saying that this was different. Special.

That left just one question.

“So why are you telling me all this anyway?” Peter said. “Okay, so I’m ’Sensitive’. Why does that matter to you? Are you going to tell everyone now?”

Egg suddenly looked offended. “Of course not, Peter. How could you—”

He stopped, took a deep breath, thinking. Peter waited, trying to process everything.

“I asked you to stay after, to talk about it, because I could see you were keeping it a secret,” Egg finally said. “When you saw that I had noticed, during class, you immediately panicked. And you and I both know that you should have deflected all five of those pillows.

“But you don’t have to be afraid of people discovering your secret, Peter. My friend, Esme? She’s one of the best curse breakers Gringotts has. She has single-handedly uncovered new Celtic labyrinths no one even dreamed existed, all because she saw a glimmer of a passageway that no one else could see. And while she may not be shouting about her gift from the rooftops, she’s not pretending it doesn’t exist either.

“She’s using all her abilities to their fullest. You should be too. Right now, Peter, you’re pretending you can only disenchant four out of five pillows. And you and I both know you can knock the whole set right out of the air.”

* * *

_Peter,_

_So good to hear from you so soon. And our New Year’s Eve was lovely; thank you for asking! Bertie and I have finally managed to collect enough acquaintances to host parties every so often, so we packed a dozen or so people into our little flat and watched the fireworks from out our picture window. Cozy and simple and happy. Exactly what we’ve been looking for, for so long._

_Bertie sends his regards. We have been talking about our future, together, of late. He says he wishes to be a part of my whole life — and you are included within that. You must be. So I hope you will reconsider my invitation to join us here. If not for the Easter holidays (I remember vividly the bustle of those days), perhaps this summer, even just a week or two. It would be a great joy to see your face again._

_As intrigued as I was to hear Mordicus Egg had become your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I’m more so to learn he’s taken an especial interest in you. Perhaps your father has mentioned this to you, but we and Mordicus went to school at the same time, give or take. He was a year younger than me, and in Gryffindor, but as you get older you’ll find neither of those things matter as much as they used to. Perhaps he won’t even remember — and I dare say you shouldn’t ask, since he’s your professor — but he and I went on a few dates around the same time I started seeing your father. Arthur and I got serious rather quickly after that, though_

_But the past is the past, and in the present he sounds like quite the capable teacher. With the stories we hear coming out of Britain these days, I imagine you will need all the skills in opposing the Dark Arts that you can get. Or if nothing else — I imagine the support of a prominent Hogwarts professor and former Ministry official can get your foot in the door a great number of places._

_Peter, I’ve been thinking about your last few letters. When you wrote me before Christmas, to say your father had gotten you tickets to that Muggle concert, there was so much excitement in your words. It was like you were right there beside me, practically bouncing in that way you do when you’re getting something you truly want._

_But after Christmas, when I asked about it, that excitement had evaporated. You merely wrote that you enjoyed the performance, and that you were looking forward to enjoying the rest of your holiday at the house._

_Forgive me, Peter, but I must ask if you’re keeping something from me. I don’t know if it’s because something happened at the concert, or perhaps you’re afraid of telling me you had a good time with your father. But whatever it is, good or ill, I am here to listen to it. I am here to support you. I hope you know that._

Sipping a mug of tea in the window seat, Peter reread the last few lines of his mother’s letter over again.

_“I am here to listen to it. I am here to support you.”_

“But you’re not,” Peter muttered aloud. “You’re in Nice, hundreds of miles away, watching the sun set on your tiny little balcony with ‘Bertie.’”

He’d thought he had written enough about the concert over the holidays to convince her it was fine. But apparently not.

In retrospect, he should have just lied. Or told her everything. His half-measure had just made everything worse.

It wasn’t even that bad.

_(Don’t lie to yourself now too.)_

* * *

As Peter touched the Portkey in his father’s hand, he felt the world snap and tumble around him, pitching him from the comfort of their flat into the cold December air — and an ankle-deep puddle of what he hoped was rainwater.

“Shite,” his father cursed, stepping back and shaking off his leather boots.

_(His dad cursed in front of him now. It was weird.)_

_“Sukhana,”_ he said, waving his wand in a squiggle at their feet and the puddle. Peter could feel the Syphoning Charm wring water out of his loafers and socks, jumping into the air and coalescing into a sickly brown-black orb that spun around and around about three inches off the ground.

“Thanks,” Peter said, trying to smile through the nausea. He hated traveling via Portkey, but his father was adamantly against Apparition, Floo Powder, Knight Buses, or — Merlin forbid — Muggle public transportation.

His father flicked his wand, and the ball of water flew further off into the darkness around them, between a pair of trees. As best Peter could see, the two of them had appeared in a small, deserted glade. The only light was from Alexandra Palace itself, up over a small ridge to their left.

“Good, no Muggles about,” his dad said, stowing his wand in a pocket. He’d touched up his Muggle wardrobe special for the occasion, bringing home a new, deep green turtleneck and a tweed blazer. Peter hadn’t known what to wear, so he’d let his dad talk him into wearing one of his old black suit coats out of his closet, shrunk down so it would fit Peter. He’d finished the look with a white shirt and a razor-thin black tie around his neck. He supposed he looked like a Beatle.

_(Sort of.)_

Which was cool.

_(If he had been pulling it off better, and not terribly horribly nervous.)_

He’d only been to one Muggle concert before, and practically incidentally. It was years ago. His parents were still together, and happy —

_(Or, at least, pretending to be.)_

— and they’d been out in London for the day, shopping at Diagon Alley and walking about. Peter’s father had, strangely, agreed to take the Tube to get around, but it’d all made sense when they made it to Hyde Park and there was oh-so-coincidentally a Rolling Stones concert happening at the exact moment they got off at Knightsbridge.

But then they’d stood in the back, and Peter had just been wearing normal everyday Muggle clothes, and it was his dad’s thing. This was different. He wanted to look like he belonged here.

_(Too bad he had no idea what that even meant.)_

“Ready to head up?” his dad asked, tucking the ballpoint pen that had served to carry them to Alexandra Palace into his front pocket for the time being. “Come on, son, shake off the Portkey blues. This is what you wanted for Christmas, right?”

“Right!” Peter said, punching the excitement in his voice a little harder than was perhaps honest. Despite his dried-off feet, there was still a bit of a chill in the air. He regretted leaving his coat back at the house. He liked his Muggle coat, a long thin jacket — well, a regular thin jacket, now that he’d grown a bit. His mother had gotten it for him, the last Christmas before he went to Hogwarts.

They hiked up the hill together, his father steering them through just the right patches of darkness until they reached the road. There weren’t many people coming in with them — from a quick peek at his father’s wristwatch, Peter could see it was almost 8.

“We’re gonna make it, right?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” his dad said with a smile. “We’ll be fine. My buddy who got me the tickets says there’s going to be plenty of space in the Great Hall. Couldn’t fill it all the way up for some reason.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Peter said. “This tour’s been huge. All the tickets sold out so fast, remember?!”

“I do,” his dad replied. “Why do you think this is the concert I knew to get tickets for?”

Peter still couldn’t figure out how his dad had gotten tickets in the first place. He’d been working in America still the day they went on sale, so there was no chance of him queueing at the box office. But when Peter got back into his room after the train ride from Hogwarts to London, there they were, just like he’d promised — two real, true-blue tickets for Led Zeppelin at the Alexandra Palace.

Then again, that was his dad. Full of surprises.

They ignored the long line at the main entrance, Peter’s dad steering him over to a side door. Peter practically floated through, barely noticing his father quietly say something to the man who checked their tickets and waved them in. Before he knew it, they were in the Great Hall itself. Them and thousands of people, all murmuring at the top of their lungs. The high ceilings seemed to practically thrum with excitement — or maybe that was just Peter’s heartbeat, escalating rapidly.

Because the thing he was abruptly realizing is that he and his father stood out like sore thumbs.

Not, like, a lot. His dad wasn’t like most of the wizards he worked with at the Ministry, thinking Muggles were still wearing full three-piece suits every time they stepped out of the house.

But there was certainly no one wearing a turtleneck, much less tweed, and the only people he saw wearing ties had leather jackets over them instead of blazers. Most everyone he saw was wearing t-shirts or button-ups, over either denim jeans or long flared trousers almost as vividly colored as old wizards’ robes.

_(And almost as ridiculous looking.)_

No one was noticing yet, but Peter couldn’t help feeling like someone from the Ministry was about to burst in, stun everyone, and arrest them for a gross and flagrant violation of the International Statute of Secrecy.

Worst of all, his father didn’t seem to notice or care.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, tapping Peter on the shoulder. “I’ve got to meet with someone quick.”

It was suddenly like all the air had been sucked out of the hall.

“Wait, what?”

His dad was already starting to walk away, but stopped at the sound of Peter’s voice and looked back.

“The guy who got us the tickets,” he said. “I need to chat with him about something. Work-related.”

“But the show’s about to start!”

His father was looking irritated now. “Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and fishing out some crumpled up pound notes. “Get a drink or something. I’ll be back.”

“Cool,” Peter shouted after his dad, upset enough to be a little daring. “I’ll just have a couple pints ’til you get back then.”

His father either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Peter didn’t know which made him feel worse.

In a place like this, Peter didn’t even know what he was supposed to be able to drink that didn’t come with alcohol in it, so he ended up slowly shuffling over to a set of rickety tables, where a group of men with long beards and blinding-bright shirts were selling various bits of clothing. He pushed the money his dad had given him in their general direction and ended up with a tour pin, a grey and black tee shirt with the four symbols on it, and a jingling mess of change.

A few minutes in the lav later—

_(Okay, a few minutes to change, then a few more to try and stop panicking.)_

—Peter was feeling halfway normal. He’d trashed the white shirt altogether. He had three more back home, and his dad might not even notice. His tie was wrapped around his waist, where it mostly blended in with his belt. The t-shirt looked ridiculous under a black Teddy Boy blazer, but he couldn’t throw that away. So he just bundled it over one arm for now. His dad could vanish it when he got back. Peter could just say he got overheated or something.

Not that that’d be a convincing argument, he realized, as he stepped back out of the toilet into the Great Hall. Somehow, despite all the people, Peter was still freezing. He kept entertaining the idea of moving up, pushing his way through the crowd — for warmth alone, though he couldn’t see his terrible view getting any better once he was completely surrounded. Plus, his dad would never find him again if he did that.

_(Maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.)_

He weighed his options and decided to leave the blazer off. Once his dad came back, they could move closer, and then—

The crowd roared, surging forward. Peter realized he could barely see the stage from the back of the hall, but something was happening up there. The lights were going haywire, and he could just barely see the tops of heads, and the necks of guitars as they were lifted in the air for a moment or two.

He needed to be closer no matter what. Or he wasn’t going to see anything. But his dad…

Someone in Led Zeppelin said something — it was John Paul Jones, maybe? — and then they were off. But it was all a muddle — the speech, the song, the roar of the crowd even. Peter seemed to hear everything all at once and in triplicate, every sound bouncing off the high cathedral ceilings. They _might_ have been playing “Rock and Roll” — but Peter was only guessing, since it was sort of their official opening song now, according to everything he’d read. From the sound of the music itself, he couldn’t tell a bit.

At some point, the crowd all cheered in unison, and Peter realized the band must have finished playing whatever it was. The band went into something else almost immediately, something Peter didn’t recognize a lick of. And still his dad wasn’t back.

Peter looked at his wristwatch. It’d been 20 minutes, at least, since his dad had left.

_(So much for “quick.”)_

He’d gone off to the right and back, away from the crowd. There was a small hallway over there, ignored by everyone. There didn’t even seem to be any staff over there either. So Peter took one last look around him and started walking over to it. Not like he was really missing anything as a wallflower.

The meaninglessness of the noise only got worse once he was in a small, enclosed space. Peter trained out the muddle and kept walking. The hall was lit with dim torches, and seemed totally deserted. Some sort of passage to the rest of Ally Pally, maybe?

On the left, there was a door, ever so slightly ajar. As he got closer, Peter realized he could hear voices talking. One of them, he realized, was his father.

“—didn’t have to do this today, you know,” his father was saying. “I have plenty of other things I could be doing with my time other than standing in this ridiculous excuse for a concert hall.”

“Calm down, Arthur.” As he came up to the doorway to peek inside, Peter half-recognized the man standing beside his father at a wooden table — something Steele, a coworker at the Ministry. He was dressed more conservatively than his father, in a grey waistcoat and trousers, with his arms crossed over his chest. “They’ll be here in a moment. I’m certain of it.”

His father seemed about to object.

_(He’s always about to object these days.)_

But then there was two puffs of air, and his father and Steele’s reactions made it clear that people had Apparated into the room, just out of Peter’s sight.

“Oh, take those off,” his father said, with disgust. “We know who you are. There’s no need for theatrics.”

“You would do well to choose your words more carefully, Arthur.” A man with a deep, sibilant voice stepped just into Peter’s view. He was wearing dark black robes that completely enveloped his body and trailed along the floor, and Peter could see him moving a round and silvery mask away from his face and into an interior pocket. “Someday, your survival may very well depend on what you said to whom, and when.”

“Well that isn’t today, Christopher,” his father said. “Today, you’re still the same little errand boy I remember from back in school, toddling after whoever would make you feel special that week. Though I will say you generally had better taste than you’ve shown lately…”

“That’s enough,” Steele said, putting a hand out to silence Peter’s father. “The items you requested are on their way. Our associates are currently bringing them via train, as you can see here.”

Steele waved his wand, and an image seemed to open up in the air between the group of four. There was a train there, as he had said, and as the image came into focus, it seemed to get closer, centering on a single flat wagon heavily burdened with box upon box of… something. Peter could almost read one of the labels — but then Steele was waving his wand again, and the image was gone.

“Not a single wizard or witch has been anywhere near them,” Steele continued. “Far as they know, it’s just another shipment of herbs and spices from the Italian countryside. Nothing to spend more than a second thinking about.”

“Marvelous,” said the other black-robed figure, a woman. “You’ve exceeded our expectations, gentlemen. Cloggs, give them their payment.”

“I still say we should pay them when the merchandise actually gets there,” Cloggs said, reaching for something up his sleeve.

“Pay them. Now. As you have been _ordered_ to do,” she replied, venomously. “It’s not as though we can’t get retribution if what these gentlemen have procured is not up to our standards.”

Peter watched his father stiffen as she spoke. Cloggs set two rectangular wallets down on the table, one in front of Steele and one in front of his father. They were enchanted; Peter could instantly see the glint of magic on them.

Steele put his in the pocket of his waistcoat, but Peter’s father reached forward and flipped it open, surprising Cloggs.

“Don’t trust us, Arthur?”

“You know, Christopher? I don’t, oddly enough.” The wallet was clearly a bifold, yet his father somehow managed to unfold it again and again. “You and your…associates…are not the sort of people I am used to working for.”

Cloggs seemed about to speak again, but his partner cut him off.

“Shut up, Cloggs,” she said. “Let the man count his money. We have time.”

The wallet had unfolded into a briefcase as Peter watched, and his father took his hands to the latches and flipped it open. Then he bent forward and reached his hand inside up to the elbow, seeming to move things around within.

“As you requested,” the woman said, “There’s 500 galleons to cover the cost of the materials themselves. Then 1,500 for your fee. I think you’ll find it’s in order.”

_(Merlin’s beard, who the hell just gave my dad more than a year’s salary? And for what?)_

“Yes, it all looks in order.” His father closed the suitcase and started folding it back up bit by bit. “I’d say it was a pleasure doing business, but… Well, let’s just leave it at ‘I appreciate the opportunity to do what I do best.’”

“We both do,” Steele added, with a glare at his father. “And we’ll appreciate you thinking of us both when you’re out in the world, doing what _you_ do best.”

The woman laughed sharply. “Oh, Steele. I’ve gotten so used to people saying exactly what they mean these days. Your dissembling is almost quaint. Don’t worry, gentlemen. We’ll be sure to leave you and your families alone, as long as you all do the same. Until we have need of more materials, that is.”

“Until then, Travers,” Steele said.

There was another pair of puffs, and Steele and his father were alone. He turned to go, but Steele reached out suddenly and grabbed him tightly.

_(Uh oh.)_

“I’m bloody sick of your theatrics, Arthur,” he said, looking Peter’s father dead in the eyes. “These are dangerous people we’re dealing with.”

“Christopher Cloggs is about as dangerous as a toothache,” his father said sourly, wrenching out of Steele’s grasp. “And about as irritating. With or without his new friends, he’s of no concern to us.”

“You’re mistaken about that,” Steele replied. “Things are changing. The deal we’ve made puts us on the right side of that change. But there are other men who can get Cloggs and his allies what they want. They picked you because you’re good, and I vouched for you. Don’t think they’ll hesitate to find someone new if you piss off the wrong people. And don’t think you’ll walk away if they do.”

“Guess I’ll have to make sure I only piss off the right people.” Peter’s father was angry now, angrier than Peter had ever seen him. “If you’ll excuse me, Phineas. My son is waiting for me. I’d like to have some far better company than you for the rest of the evening.”

“It’s your son you should be worried about—“ Steele started, but Peter was already hurrying back, quick as he could without making a sound.

His mind was racing as he moved toward the echoing sound of the concert, trying to figure everything out.

_(Phineas Steele. He works with Dad at the Ministry. He’s his boss, but he didn’t seem like his boss tonight.)_

_(Who were those people in the black cloaks? What were they doing here?)_

_(What are_ we _doing here? Are we here for the concert? Dad’s business meeting? Which came first, the clandestine meeting or the convenient excuse?)_

“What’d I miss?”

A few minutes after Peter got back, his dad’s voice cut through the roar of the crowd. He was coming straight toward Peter, a smile across his face. Like nothing had happened. Like he was just another cool dad, taking his teenage son to his first proper concert.

_(Like this wasn’t all some big lie.)_

* * *

Peter stared down at the blank piece of parchment in front of him, totally at a loss for words.

He could tell his mother the truth. Not the whole truth of course — the thing with his father, and Phineas Steele, and the weird people in the black robes. But that the concert was odd. And that Dad had left him alone for a while to meet with people from work. And how that made him feel lousy and alone, poisoning the whole night.

But that felt like betraying his dad. He didn’t want to do that. As upset as he was, as confused as he was… he and his dad were supposed to be a team now. Which meant he had to stand by him.

So he had to lie to his mum — but just a little. And the next time he went home, he was going to talk to his dad. He was going to ask him about that night, and what he was doing in America, and why he had to be so secretive about everything always.

_(He was going to try, at least.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're as big a fan of worldbuilding as me (doubtful, as chchchchcherrybomb might add), you'll appreciate that this strange Zeppelin concert really did happen in London over the holidays in '72 -- a happy little accident that made for a unique scene.
> 
> Also, note the inclusion of a female Death Eater who isn't Bellatrix Lestrange, JKR. #womencanbeDeathEaterstoo #feminism


	6. Till There Was You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his friends get closer and closer to discovering his secret, Remus faces an unpleasant reality:
> 
> If he wants to keep them from discovering he's a werewolf... He's going to have to leave Hogwarts behind forever.

Remus stared down at his diary, trying to figure out what lie to come up with for his friends this week before he ran out of Chocolate Wands.

He took the third-to-last one out of the pack and nibbled on the feather’s tip as he pondered Friday and Saturday. He’d put a tiny circle in the corner with moonrise and moonset in equally tiny print, so small he could barely see it himself. In a certain sense, the timing was perfect this month; he’d be able to duck straight out of History of Magic and meet Pomfrey as the moon started to come up and the sun began to set. He could eat dinner there before the change took him, and be back to the hospital wing in the morning before anyone even got up.

Except…

There was a Herbology exam first thing next Monday morning, and a study session in Greenhouse Three after classes let out on Friday.

Ravenclaw was playing Slytherin out on the Quidditch pitch Saturday, and James was insisting they go to cheer against their rivals.

Peter’s dad was going to send him Yoko Ono’s new screaming on vinyl any day now, he promised, and they would have to listen to it _immediately_ in the Cavern.

If there was still snow on the ground, the third-year Gryffindors were going sledding, and had been magnanimous enough to invite them for once, so they couldn’t miss it.

And, of course, there was the fact that all of his friends knew he was a giant lying liar who wasn’t going anywhere near St. Mungo’s, regardless of whether he told them he was leaving the castle today, Friday or never.

For the thirtieth time, Remus kicked himself for blowing up at James and Sirius before the holidays. They’d been unsure then, but by the time January rolled around they’d become certain — of something, at least. The whole bunch of them had made up on the train, but Remus would catch them giving him a look every once in a while. Like he was a Transfiguration problem they needed to solve.

And then when he’d left last month…

He’d thought it would be better to make it sound like a follow-up from December, since they’d made such a deal about his absences being unplanned sometimes and planned others. He had a whole rationalization too, about why he needed to go with even though it was in the middle of the week.

He hadn’t needed it, of course. Peter had just sort of shrugged, and James asked if he should take notes for him in Charms and Transfiguration. And then Sirius just gave him this look — not quite pity, but maybe a cousin to it.

And that was it, as far as he could tell outwardly. But there was the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that something else was going on.

“There you are!”

Sirius was poking his head through the curtains of his bed suddenly, and Remus instinctively snapped his planner shut just in case his friend had somehow caught a glimpse of the tiny, tiny full moon on February 16.

“Take your hand out of your pants and get downstairs, mate,” he kept saying, apparently oblivious to Remus’s surprise. “Kristopher Teak found a Jawney on the grounds and we’re trying to get it to say mean things about Professor Slughorn.”

“Yeah, alright.” That sounded as amusing a Sunday evening’s entertainment as anything else. Remus rolled off the bed on the other side and tucked his planner back into his bag.

There were about two dozen students downstairs, laughing as Kris and Gideon Prewett both tried to stare down the Jawney. It seemed to be winning the contest, its beady eyes almost as jarring as its size — perhaps a yard long, though it was coiled up partway in an armchair. Remus had seen a ferret once, at a Muggle friend’s house when they lived out in the Midlands, and the Jawney looked like that ferret’s older, meaner, bigger brother.

“Come on, old chap,” said Teak, pushing a strand of curly hair out of his eyes. “You can do it. Just say ‘Slughorn’s a wanker.’”

“You’re-a-wanker-you’re-a-wanker.” The Jawney had a strange voice, deep in pitch but high in velocity, all at once. And it seemed to be delighted by the prospect of toying with Teak.

“Out of the way, pretty boy,” Prewett said, nudging the younger Gryffindor back. “You can’t just tell this guy what to do. You’ve got to build up a rapport. Isn’t that right?”

He reached out a hand to try and scratch under its neck, but the Jawney snapped its teeth at him instead, Prewett pulling his fingers back just in time. “Come-on-chap-wanker-come-off-it-mate. No-touch-arsehole.”

That set the whole room giggling again, even Prewett. And Remus himself, he realized.

“Told you you weren’t going to want to miss this,” Sirius said, nudging Remus with his elbow. “How long ’til they actually start wrestling the thing on the floor?”

“Five minutes,” Remus said, not taking his eyes off the Jawney. He was still a few days out from the full moon, but there was just enough wolf in him that he couldn’t help watching the animal like prey. “Teak’s more brawn than brain, and Gideon’s the Prewett who likes breaking rules, not making rules. So he’ll probably start encouraging it in a minute.”

Sirius snorted at that, causing some older girls ahead of them to turn around and glare. Remus stuck his tongue out at them, and the girls rolled their eyes as they went back to pretending they didn’t exist.

“Hey,” Remus said slowly, “I should probably tell you…I got an owl from my parents this weekend. They want me back in London Friday night. Follow-up appointment for my mum.”

Sirius didn’t say anything right away, and Remus’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop. But then, his friend looked over at him with a sad smile. “Sure, that makes sense. Monthly check-ins are good.”

“Yeah,” Remus said quietly, trying to look like someone with a dying mother. His impression was getting worse and worse. “I’ve still got to let James know — he wants us all to go down to the pitch on Saturday for the game. And Peter too, I guess.”

“I keep forgetting about that,” Sirius grumbled. “You know that storm coming in across the moor is probably going to linger all week? I caught a glimpse of the clouds out the window a few hours ago and it looks like the apocalypse is coming for us.”

And that, it seemed, was that. He and Sirius complained about the incoming snow, and laughed when the Jawney bit Kris Teak’s nose, and then went down to dinner. It was a regular Sunday night.

Something was not right.

* * *

Three days later, halfway through double Transfiguration, Remus realized what he had to do.

He and the boys had a free period that bled into lunch on Wednesdays, so usually what they ended up doing after a long morning of Transfiguration was duck into one of the unused classrooms nearby and hang out — usually, the one with the British Isles mosaic that Sirius liked. But today, Remus wouldn’t be able to do that.

“I think I’m going to head back up to the dorms and try and take a nap,” he lied, as they shuffled out of the Transfiguration classroom. “I barely got any sleep last night and I’m bloody exhausted.”

“Yeah, I wondered,” James said, giving him a sympathetic look. “I know Transfiguration’s not your favorite subject, but those goblets you were transfiguring were like something out of a nightmare.”

“Remember the one that still had eyes?” Peter said.

“Or the one where the handles were flapping like wings?” James and Peter both shuddered, despite Remus’s scowl at them.

“Ha, ha, yes, very funny. Remus is bad at Transfiguration. Very amusing.”

“Oh go upstairs already,” James said with a wave of his hand. “You’re such a grump today.”

Remus did as he suggested — straight upstairs, two floors up, to Dumbledore’s office.

“Fizzy Pop,” he said to the gargoyle, which nodded and began to spiral upward. Remus took the stairs two at a time.

The doors were slightly ajar at the top of the steps, so Remus gingerly poked his head in. “Professor? Professor Dumbledore?”

The idea of entering the headmaster’s chambers uninvited made Remus want to drop dead on the spot, but Dumbledore had explicitly told him that if there was anything he needed to share regarding his condition, he should show up, day or night. So he slipped through the door and crept into the room.

He hadn’t been up to the headmaster’s office since his first week at Hogwarts, but it seemed largely the same — if a bit cleaner. In the corner, the gilded cage he remembered was occupied this time, by a small red bird that seemed to be dozing against one edge. And the silver instruments so haphazardly strewn about the office were now all organized on tables around the room, creating a sort of harmonic cacophony as they clicked and clattered.

Of Dumbledore, there was nothing to be seen. His desk had moved since the last time Remus had seen it; rather than in front of the fireplace to the right, it was now straight in and further back, slightly raised on a dais. As Remus warily moved closer, he could see that the desk was covered with newspapers and magazines, many of them in languages he didn’t recognize offhand.

A snippet of conversation suddenly caught his ear, and his head turned automatically to listen. There was another room past the desk — a small office, with the door cracked just enough for him to hear the people talking within.

“—ridiculous. The Ministry cannot be serious, Mordicus.”

“I can only report what I hear, Mellan, and what I hear is that the Ministry sees us as a threat. A lesser one, perhaps, but a threat nonetheless.”

“The true threat is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” O’Brien continued, “and every second they spend worrying about us is a second he and his followers have to gain a greater foothold.”

“You know better than most how blind a threatened government can be, Mellan. After all, it’s not for the health benefits that you left America in the ‘20s, was it?”

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore’s voice cut in, “this conversation will have to be picked up another time. I have a guest.”

Remus froze instinctively, like a child caught where he shouldn’t be.

Which, he supposed, he was.

“Who?” he heard Professor O’Brien ask, and then Mordicus Egg was swinging the door open.

“Ah, Remus,” Egg said. “How have you been doing on your Full Body-Binds?”

“Um, okay, I guess.” In truth, Remus hadn’t really thought about his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework much this week — too busy worrying about the full moon. Plus he and the other guys usually practiced new spells on each other… but none of them had been brave enough to ask Sirius if he was okay with getting put in a Full Body-Bind again, given his history with the jinx.

“I figured,” Egg replied. “How do you feel about being our test dummy for the first part of class this afternoon? Lily Evans has already volunteered to help, as long as she doesn’t have to be the only one to do it.”

Remus racked his brain for a reason that would satisfy the professor — upset stomach, religious objection, “I’m a werewolf”, personal grudge? — and couldn’t find one that seemed convincing. “Sure…I guess.”

“Excellent.” Egg stepped forward and clapped him sharply on the shoulder as Professor O’Brien snuck out behind him. “I’ll see you at 3:30 then. Don’t eat a big lunch.”

“Brill,” Remus muttered, as the two professors hurried out of the office.

That just left him and Dumbledore, who Remus could now see was still sitting at a low table in the next room, sorting a large stack of papers, maps and miscellaneous notes into a half-dozen nearby filing cabinets with a swish and flick of his wand. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Remus. Come in, please. It’s good to see you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Remus said, taking the empty chair furthest from the headmaster. “I just walked in. I should have waited. It sounded like what you were talking about was important.”

God, should he have said that out loud?

“It was,” Dumbledore replied soberly, setting his wand on the now-bare table. “But unlike your visit this morning, no surprise to me — and when possible, it is best to focus on that which surprises you. The fickle machinations of a bureaucracy that insists on ignoring the truth are easy to manage; the series of events that led you to my office may or may not be.”

Remus really dug Dumbledore, but he wished he could get a straight answer out of him every so often.

Something must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore made a hand gesture like he was clearing a chalkboard. “My apologies, Remus. You’ve caught me on an exceptionally esoteric Wednesday. What can I do for you? Is this about your transformation this week?”

“Sort of,” Remus admitted. “But that’s not really the whole of it.”

He stopped, trying to find his words. Dumbledore didn’t say a word, waiting patiently.

“I think,” he finally started. “I… I feel… They know, I think. My friends. James, Sirius. Peter maybe. We had a fight before Christmas and we didn’t talk all holiday and we made up last month but maybe we didn’t and maybe they know. I know they know. Because they’ve been different ever since.”

“Different how?” Dumbledore said, sneaking the question in between Remus’s frantic sentences.

“They’ve been normal,” he blurted out. A tiny smile started to reach up toward Dumbledore’s eyes. Remus tried to cut it off. “I mean, not _normal_ normal. Normally whenever I make up a lie about where I’m going during the full moon, they’re worried about me and my mum. Who isn’t even sick. I hate pretending she’s sick when I’m the sick one. But anyway. They’re normally worried, or at least annoyed that I’m inconveniencing them. But they’re just fine with it. They couldn’t, wouldn’t be, is what I’m saying. So it must be a trick. Or something. I don’t know what.”

The smile didn’t get any bigger, but it didn’t go away either. Remus was becoming concerned that Dumbledore thought he was being overdramatic. He wasn’t. This time.

“Like, I told Sirius this weekend that I was going home on Friday, and all he said was that it was going to be snowy and cloudy all week. No ‘any update from the Healers’. No ‘oh, I was hoping you’d be here to nudge me every time I complain about watching a Quidditch game that Gryffindor isn’t even playing in’. Not even a ‘do you really have to go back every month if nothing’s ever going to change’.”

“And that’s abnormal?” Dumbledore asked.

“I mean… Not, like, _crazy_ abnormal. But it’s weird. It’s weird and it’s not the only example. So I think they’ve figured it out. They’ve figured out I’m a werewolf.”

“I see.” Dumbledore began idly spinning his wand in a circle with his long fingers. “So you came up here to update me, let me know that your friends suspect you’re a werewolf?”

“No,” Remus said, his confidence and the pit in his stomach growing in perverse sync. “Not just that. I’m here because I need to leave Hogwarts. Permanently.”

The wand stopped spinning. Remus hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been capturing the headmaster’s attention in full until he actually got it. Dumbledore’s blue eyes flashed up to meet his own, pinning him to the chair like a moth under glass.

“I see,” Dumbledore said simply. “You are serious about this. You’ve thought it through.” Statements, not questions.

“Yes.” Remus felt almost afraid to say more, explain.

“This is no passing fancy, stress response, irrational fear.”

“No.”

Dumbledore was quiet then. Thinking.

“Remus,” he finally said. “I am going to ask you to do the hardest thing anyone can do. Wait.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that advice.

“There are two days until the full moon. Spend those days as you normally would. Go to class. Socialize with your friends. Think about the way they’re interacting with you.

“Then, before you come back from the Shrieking Shack, think about those days. Ask yourself what explanation for your friends’ behavior makes sense. Are they afraid their best friend is a werewolf? Or — and I know this may be hard to believe — are they _not_ afraid their best friend is a werewolf?”

Remus was having trouble breathing, trying to understand what Dumbledore was telling him. He wished the headmaster would just…say words normally.

“I think if your friends were afraid of you, Remus, I would not be talking with you. I would be talking with them.

“But I have been wrong before. Often catastrophically wrong. So if, after this weekend has elapsed, you still feel your friends are a danger to you, return to my office, and we will talk about drastic measures like you leaving the school. Not before. Agreed?”

“…Agreed.”

“Good.” Dumbledore stood up, coming around the desk and moving toward the door, extending a hand to direct Remus to leave first. He obliged quickly. The longer he stayed in that room, the longer he felt like he was a burden on the headmaster, no matter which way things turned out.

“Thank you, Professor,” Remus said as he headed to the door. “I’ll wait. And think.”

He had his hand on the large oak doors when Dumbledore spoke again from behind him. “Oh, and Remus? One more thing.”

The headmaster was standing next to his golden birdcage when Remus turned, and the bird within had awoken. Both of them were staring intensely at him as Dumbledore spoke.

“Since you arrived here at Hogwarts, you, Madame Pomfrey and I have devoted a great deal of time to keeping your condition a secret. But we have not been doing that for the benefit of the other students in this castle. We’ve been doing it for you. That means you get to decide what is in your best interests. No one else.

“Remember that, this weekend. Do not take this the wrong way, but — I hope not to see you come Monday morning.”

* * *

Remus barely tasted his breakfast — a rarity, for the day after a change. Pomfrey kept chattering away as she passed piece upon piece of bacon from the skillet to his plate, but he was just counting the minutes until she deemed him “properly fed” and they could return to Hogwarts.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up to the hospital wing for a bit?” she asked, as they slipped back into the quiet castle.

“Yes,” Remus said emphatically, quickly stepping away from her. “I’ve got work to do. I’ll be fine.”

Then he was off walking, twisting and turning his way through halls and up and down stairwells. He had no idea where he was going. Or what he was doing.

He knew leaving was the right, smart move, as much as he hated doing it. James and Sirius were on the edge of the truth. Once they knew the truth, there was nothing stopping them from sharing it. He would be exposed, and expelled, and out of Hogwarts anyway. Better to do it now, when he could pretend it was for some other reason that didn’t make him a danger to everyone around him.

His parents would understand. His dad especially. He’d been supportive of Remus going to school, of course — what parent wouldn’t be — but Remus could still remember the look in his dad’s eye that day he sat him down to talk about what the rest of his life was going to look like. “Protect yourself by protecting others _from_ yourself,” he’d said. There was no better protection for his friends than getting far, far away from them.

Of course, Dumbledore had ruined everything. Putting other words in his head. Words that made him want to stay, trust the boys. But he couldn’t risk it. Better to be alone and in chains by choice than… the other way.

Remus stopped, suddenly realizing where he was, and laughed aloud in the empty hall. There was the stairwell to the bell tower, right there in front of him. He must have looped all the way back around to the front of the castle, subconsciously drawn to the spot.

“May as well go up,” he muttered, looking around automatically for professors, prefects or Filch. “Bloody feet are gonna get sore walking around this castle.”

Sirius wouldn’t be there, he knew. The Quidditch match had just been starting when he and Pomfrey had been coming back into the castle, so he and James and Peter were probably there. Irritable and delighted and resigned, respectively.

And then here he was, the sad lonely werewolf, sitting alone in a cold bell tower, planning to leave them all behind.

The hardest part was going to be leaving in a way that didn’t make James and Sirius even more suspicious. It wasn’t like they were little firsties anymore. They were friends now. They knew Remus, a little, and if he just left after class one day and never came back, they would ask questions.

His “sick” mother had to be the easiest solution. Her condition could get worse, he supposed. So he goes home, and stays. Then she dies, and he just never comes back to Hogwarts.

It couldn’t be right away. That would be a red flag. But waiting until the end of the year wouldn’t work either. That might make it worse, honestly. They could band together, come into London with their parents to see if they could do anything.

But they would want to come to the funeral, he realized. If they could come to London to see how he was doing, they could come to pay their respects too. And there would be no funeral because there was no one dead. Just his living mum and living dad and their dying-inside werewolf son.

Could she die during the year, if he left earlier? He could wait a few weeks, then go home, then say she was dead and they were having a small service. Just immediate family. No concerned friends.

But then there was the Easter holidays. They were supposed to all stay in the castle together, to study and pick classes for next year. But if he had a dead mum, they would be writing him nonstop, practically as soon as they put her in the ground, to see if they could come by that week, when they were home. And he couldn’t wait until after Easter. He’d have the same problem a few months later, once summer rolled around. Plus, two more full moons meant two more chances for them to figure out the truth.

So killing his mum off was out of the question. He needed something else that could get him out of Hogwarts faster, but was equally believable.

Could he just say he was transferring to Beauxbatons? They wouldn’t believe Durmstrang, obviously. But if his dad got a new job, some sort of ministry ambassador…

No, that was too close. They’d want to come visit in the summer. Or at least write. Homeschooled werewolves don’t make good pen pals.

Could he just say he was moving even further away? Ilvermorny? One of the Asian schools? But again — all the questions. Why now? What about your mum? Can we write to you? Visit? Convince your dad to stay?

No, that wouldn’t work. As long as he was alive, he was reachable.

If he wasn’t alive though…

If he went home for a weekend, and never came back, and Dumbledore called all the boys into his office and said that Remus _had_ been the sick one, all this time, and that he was never coming back — not to Hogwarts, not to England, not to life itself —

Come to think of it, he could always cut out the middleman and just throw himself right out the window of the bell tower, right now.

He was fully human, right now. No werewolf healing.

If he dropped down to the courtyard below, that was the end. The end of all of this.

…

No.

Not that.

That was ridiculous. Overdramatic.

That would be like spitting in the face of Dumbledore and Pomfrey and Peter and James and Sirius, and taking a werewolf out of the world wasn’t worth that.

He was faking his death. Faking it. Now the only thing that was left to do was to figure out how to convince Dumbledore to—

The trap door swung open, and Remus screamed in shock. He was freezing, he suddenly realized, huddled in the cold corner of the room. He hadn’t even lit one of the lanterns he and Sirius had swiped from the dungeons for cloudy dark days like this.

There was a clatter from the trap door, like someone had fallen off the ladder.

“Merlin’s bloody sausages, Remus. Do not do that!”

Sirius’s voice came from further down than Remus had expected, and there was a twinge of pain in it. When his head fully popped out from the trap door, Remus could dimly see a thin line of blood trickling down from his scalp line.

“Dammit, sorry,” he said, scrambling to his feet and hurrying over to help Sirius up. The other boy shook off his hand, though, pulling himself the rest of the way into the chamber.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sirius said, closing the door behind him. “I just… You startled me, is all. I didn’t think you’d be back already.”

“You either,” Remus admitted.

“Have you just been up here in the dark?” Sirius went over to the far wall and grabbed one of the lanterns they’d stolen from the library. It illuminated immediately at his touch, light and warmth radiating across the room toward Remus.

“Oh, I guess. I forgot. Wasn’t up here long.” Remus came over toward Sirius, who’d pulled over a pair of cushions for them both.

“Remus. You’re shivering. You don’t have to lie about it.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Remus almost said — but instead, he just sat down silently.

They sat without speaking for only a moment, before Sirius filled the gap, as he always did.

“Quidditch gods did Peter ’n’ me a favor today,” he said, holding his hands out over the lantern and rubbing them together. “Quinn Kingfisher caught the Snitch something like, 20, maybe 25 minutes in? James was furious, of course. But he’d have been just as furious if Slytherin had won four hours later too, and I was a lot warmer, so I figured we were all better off.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Remus knew he should say more — that silence was an invitation for Sirius to poke, prod, ask questions he couldn’t answer — but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What do you say to one of your best friends when you’ve decided you can’t ever see him again?

“How are you feeling? Did you eat yet?”

“What?” The question caught Remus off guard, and whatever face he’d made seemed to surprise Sirius too. Or maybe it was the question itself — he looked as if he hadn’t meant to ask, or regretted it.

“I just mean… Like, since you got back from London. Did you eat. And like, are you feeling…okay…about your mum.”

“Oh, right.” That made sense, he supposed. “Sorry, I… I’m okay. It’s hard to… go, and then come back. The coming back is worse. Because then I have to be normal again. Like it never happened.”

Why was he telling Sirius any of this?

But Sirius was nodding along, like he understood. “I can’t imagine. Having to leave every few weeks. Go through…that…and then just go back to being a regular kid.”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can talk to us about it,” Sirius said, after a pause. “James and me. And Peter. We’re your friends, mate. We don’t want you to have to keep all this to yourself. Or at least I don’t.”

“Sirius, I… I can’t do that. I wish I could, but—”

“It’s eating you alive, Remus. This… secret. What’s going on with your mum, I mean.” Sirius seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. Remus’s pre-holiday explosion must have been on his mind. “I think you’re afraid talking to us about it will destroy us, or destroy our friendship. But not talking about it — I think that is going to destroy you.”

“I—”

“Look,” Sirius said, sliding a little closer. “Let me just say this, okay? I don’t have a lot of secrets anymore, you know? Everyone in the castle seems to know all about how my parents hate me, especially now that Regulus is here. And I’ve told you and James and Peter just about everything else. All the little things everyone else guesses at. That Christmas wasn’t the first time I wanted to go home — it was the first time I was _allowed_. That my mum has started earmarking family heirlooms for Regulus already. All the terrible, cruel things Mulciber and his gang have said or done to me.

“But it has not been _easy_ to do all that, Remus. It was easier at the beginning, when we first got to Hogwarts. When everyone knew the big truth but no one knew the little truths. The details.

“I thought keeping those a secret was keeping me safe. But it was only keeping me alone. Which was fine, at first. I was used to feeling alone, in my family.

“But I don’t feel alone, now. Not with the three of you. And now the idea that one of us would feel like they’ve got to go it alone — that makes me really sad, Remus.

“I didn’t think you felt that way for a long time. I knew you had this private secret, but I thought the amount you told us was enough for you. Then Christmas happened, and…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas,” Remus interrupted. “So sorry. You know that. It was just a bad day and I apologized.”

“That’s just it, Remus. I spent the whole holiday thinking about it — and I don’t think it was. I think it was just a day when you couldn’t hide the whole truth from us.”

Remus didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare.

“I think… I think you want to tell us everything. Honestly. Otherwise I wouldn’t be saying all this, or at least wouldn’t be saying this in the same way, or… Look, what you’re going through, from what you’ve told us, is a lot. And you shouldn’t have to go through it alone, if you don’t want to. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s not that simple,” Remus said. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but it’s just not. You have… you have no idea.”

“I have a guess,” Sirius said quietly. “And if my guess is even close to the truth, then you need us, Remus. You’re not going to get through this without people you can trust. I’ll be there whether you tell us or not — but I hope you will.”

Sirius cared about him, Remus knew. Really, truly cared. And Remus was planning to run away from him and James and Peter forever. There was no other option. Right?

“Let’s talk about something else,” he said, trying not to cry. “What’s Peter doing? How come you were coming up here anyway, if you thought I was still in London?”

“Oh wow, I can’t believe I didn’t say,” Sirius said, putting his head in his hands. “He got an owl from his dad this morning. The Yoko album is here. When we got back to the castle, I told him I had to run to the lav before we listened to it. So naturally I came straight here.”

Remus burst out laughing. “Sirius, you arse,” he said between gasps for air. “That means James is in the Cavern with Peter all alone, listening to that horrible woman scream and scream.”

“It’s a double album too,” Sirius said, laughing himself now. “He’ll be there for _ages_.”

“You’re a real wanker,” Remus lied.

It was in that moment, laughing with Sirius by torchlight, that Remus realized he was never going to be able to leave this place. These people.

So what in the name of Merlin was he going to do?

* * *

Sirius’s words had rattled around in Remus’s head the whole rest of the weekend. It was infuriating. He’d figured out a whole plan for leaving Hogwarts and saving his friends and living his life and then—

Then Sirius had to just go and put ideas into his head.

And those ideas about secrets and friendship were great and all, but they weren’t real. They didn’t fix anything. He was a werewolf before the conversation and he was a werewolf after it — a sad, teary-eyed, almost-teenage werewolf, sitting alone on his bed, staring at all the bits of his friends’ lives he was going to leave behind.

On his nightstand, James had left his latest issue of _Seeker Weekly_ half-open on his nightstand. From here, Remus could see one of the Puddlemere United players waving vapidly at him through a photograph, hair billowing in the breeze. The magazine was weighed down by one of the Shock-o-Choc bars James had originally meant to send him for Christmas — they’d had a good laugh a week into the new term over it, once things were finally smoothed over enough that Remus could ask why James had sent him a magic razor.

Peter’s bed was, as usual, completely unmade, but it was also completely reversed, with the pillows at the feet. He’d been having trouble sleeping lately, and said his mum swore by that as a solution. It’d seemed to help, but if Remus had to guess it was more due to the fact that sleeping the wrong way around kept him from sitting up too late reading and rereading their textbooks. He liked that about Peter, though — he worked hard to keep pace with the other three, even in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

And then there was Sirius’s bed, across the way. He’d used a Severing Charm to slash his name into the tiny ruffle above the foot of the bed; it always made Remus smile to see. From this angle, he could see the mix of shoes and music magazines stuffed underneath. In the corner, books were spilling out of his bag all over the floor. Remus always teased him about causing a mess, or breaking their spines in half when he threw them down at the end of the day, but Sirius always just laughed and reminded him that the Blacks were richer than Midas, and he had to do his best to waste as much of their blood money as he could. It was his duty as a Gryffindor, brave at heart and all that.

Remus wasn’t feeling too brave at heart tonight. He just felt scared, and sad. And, yes, alone. Sirius had hit the nail on the head with that one yesterday morning. Sure, the other boys were his friends. But they weren’t like him. He was a werewolf, and they were just…

Just…

When Remus was 9, he convinced his parents to let him try Muggle day school. It’d been a complete and utter disaster, of course — it wasn’t four months before the three of them were packing their bags and scurrying out of Aberdeen with catastrophe on their heels. But before then, he’d had this project. Everyone in class got assigned to write a report on an animal native to Europe. And because the universe was apparently just one big cosmic joke, he got wolves.

The weird thing about wolves — real wolves — is that they were practically extinct, at least on in this part of the world. There were none, or near none, in Britain, and on the Continent they’d been driven further and further east over generations by European hunters. And those hunters were best able to kill their targets when they were hunting lone wolves — ones who had been cast out of their pack, or chosen to go alone. Packs could turn on the hunters, or sense them coming and escape before they could get close enough to kill.

There weren’t any other werewolves at Hogwarts, Remus knew. But maybe… Maybe he had a pack anyway.

He was hurtling down the steps to the common room almost before he knew it. Only James was down there, playing chess with Nabin.

“He resigns,” Remus said, walking over and knocking down James’s king.

“Hey!” James sprang to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. “What gives, Remus? I was actually going to win this time!”

Nabin let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You most certainly were not, Potter.”

Remus ignored him. “Where’s Sirius?”

“With Peter,” James said. “Remember the thing I told you Peter had me, uh, ‘read about’ yesterday? He finally convinced Sirius to do that too.”

“Good,” Remus replied. “We’re headed where they already are. See ya, Nabin.”

He grabbed James by the arm and pulled him out of the common room, leaving Nabin with his mouth half-ajar. He didn’t care, now.

“What gives?” James asked, as they sped through the halls. He was working to keep up with Remus, despite having slightly longer legs. “You get hit with a Quickstep Jinx or something?”

“We can’t talk about it here,” Remus said. “Only at the Cavern.”

James didn’t say anything else the rest of the walk — probably because he was near out of breath. Remus too, but he wasn’t stopping for that. On the third floor, he burst through the hidden entrance to the Cavern without hesitation, a wall of surprisingly-less-screamy-than-he-expected sound hitting him in the face as he did.

“Remus!” Peter shouted, jumping up from his chair. “You finally agreed to listen to the new Yoko album!” From behind him, Sirius made a face like he was being drawn and quartered.

“Not quite.” Remus stepped over to the record player and lifted the arm, letting silence mercifully take the place of whatever the woman was trying to sing.

“Alright,” James said from behind him, stepping through the wall sullenly. “What’s all this about? Why did you make me run all the way down here when I was finally going to checkmate Nabin?”

“You were definitely not,” Sirius and Peter said in unison, bursting into giggles.

“I have to tell you something,” Remus said, pointing over at an empty chair. “You want to sit down.”

To Remus’s relief, James did what he said, without complaining or trying to make a joke. Peter was looking confused now. Sirius…didn’t really look like anything.

Looking over his best friends, Remus realized he had no idea what he was going to say.

“So…um…so you remember over the holidays, when I freaked out about you inviting me to Diagon Alley?”

“Mate,” James started, “you don’t have to apologize for that again. We get it. We overstepped. We took a few weeks apart and then—”

“No,” Remus said. “You don’t get it, James. Just let me finish.”

James shared a glance with Sirius. Something passed between them, and then James settled back in his chair without saying anything else.

“I wasn’t in Hogsmeade.”

James’s face became a mixture of pain and triumph.

“Or St. Mungo’s.”

Now it was back to confusion again.

Peter looked like he was suffering from terrible vertigo.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “If you weren’t in Hogsmeade or St. Mungo’s, then where were you?”

“That’s…that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Remus said. “The truth is…you see, when I was a kid—no, that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter when, it just…I…look, I’ve been lying to you ever since I got to Hogwarts, and I wouldn’t have done that except I had a good reason and…”

He trailed off. He could say as many words as he wanted to prepare them, but there were only three that mattered.

“I’m a werewolf.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then James did the last thing Remus expected.

He laughed.

Not like the laugh when Sirius said something mean about a Slytherin or Remus told a good joke. James was laughing the way he did when they got back in the common room after a nighttime romp through the castle that they’d cut too close, a prefect or Filch half at their heels all the way back. Relief and disbelief, all rolled into one.

Peter looked more confused than Remus had ever seen him. He was seeing Remus totally differently, he realized — or he would be, if his eyes came back into focus. Remus wondered if the boy might actually faint.

Sirius…

Sirius was just…

Looking at him. Exactly the same way he had when they were up in the bell tower yesterday. Except for the addition of a tiny curved half-smile.

That was the moment Remus knew Sirius had figured it all out a long time before.

“I-I-I don’t understand,” Peter stuttered. “You can’t be a werewolf. Right? You would be shapeshifting every month, every time there’s a—”

“Full moon,” James said, shaking his head. “He has been, Peter. I don’t know how I didn’t realize it. Your trips to St. Mungo’s always seemed irregular because they were on different days of the week every time. But they weren’t. They were just every 28 days.”

“29 and a half,” Remus clarified automatically.

“But you weren’t actually going to Mungo’s, right?” Sirius asked.

Remus shook his head. “There’s a tunnel out of the castle, at the base of the Whomping Willow. Dumbledore set it up before I got here last year. Pomfrey takes me under the grounds, out to some shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.”

Peter’s jaw came fully unhinged. “Dumbledore’s involved?!”

“I thought I saw people crossing the grounds at night last month,” James said.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius interrupted, “how do you get past the Willow?”

“I just didn’t make the connection that it was you. I assumed you would be taking the Floo Network to Mungo’s so the idea of you leaving on foot—”

“I saw that thing smash up a whole flock of birds last year; you should be extremely dead. Wait, is the Whomping Willow even real? Or is it like—”

“Does it hurt?” Peter said, quietly. “I hope it doesn’t hurt. I’ve read that—”

“Honestly, Remus, I thought this whole time that you were the one who was sick, and you were just lying to us because you thought we’d freak out. But—”

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Remus said, cutting them all off. “Bloody hell, I just told you that I turn into a bloodthirsty _monster_ every time the full moon comes up. Before I got to come here, my parents and I were constantly on the move so no one figured out the small, quiet Lupin boy was secretly a werewolf. This place, Hogwarts, is the longest I ever remember getting to stay in one home. I’ve been terrified about the possibility of you finding out since the day we first came to Hogwarts. And now you’re just acting like…like it’s no big deal.”

James got up suddenly, and Remus instinctively took a step back. “Remus. I know it’s a big deal. _We_ know it’s a big deal. But I thought you were dying, remember? I’ve been afraid for months that one of my best friends was sick and dying and not even telling me about it so we could do something.”

“Oh, uh…”

“And now you’re telling us the truth, which is great. And even better, you’re _not_ dying. You’re not really sick.”

“I am,” Remus insisted. “I got bit. When I was four-and-a-half. I’ve been sick ever since.”

“Okay, sure, you’re a little sick,” James said, rolling his eyes. “But you’re only ’sick’ one day every 28 — excuse me, _29 and a half_ days. And you have a way of keeping yourself and everybody else safe during that time. And all the rest of the time, you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever gotten to know. So stop calling yourself sick. Sick is people with Warbling Cough and Dragon Pox and that thing you get if you touch too many horned frogs. You’ve just got a furry little problem.”

Somehow Remus burst into laughter and tears all at once. Then James was hugging him and it was sort of weird and sort of nice and then Sirius and Peter were there too and he was getting snot all over their robes and acting like a baby, a baby werewolf, and by some sheer perfect miracle his best friends didn’t care about either one of those two things.

Remus didn’t keep his appointment with Dumbledore Monday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is largely the end of sad preteen werewolf feels for now, I promise!
> 
> With Remus's secret revealed, we've crossed one canonical Marauders moment off the checklist. Stay tuned... By the end of the fic, we'll see another unique Marauders item -- well, two unique Marauders items -- briefly make an appearance!
> 
> Hope you're enjoying the fic so far, and see you next week as the plot starts to kick into high gear!


	7. Please Mister Postman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the course of four letters, James, Remus, Peter, and Sirius make plans for a summer they'll never forget.

_James,_

_So glad to hear you’ve patched things up with your friend Remus. From what you’ve told me, he seems like a nice boy. I remember many a scuffle in my youth that made a friendship stronger by the end. Why, even your mother and I didn’t properly get along until the middle of our fourth year, when we finally had it out in the middle of the library. The detention we served with Bettina Flood was the standard against which professors modeled their punishments for years._

_(Your mother is looking over my shoulder, as always! She says if Bettina is still there you should pour out her inkwells when the woman has stepped away to yell at some other poor soul. What a marvelous woman, your mother.)_

_As a parent, I suppose it would be appropriate to remind you to stay focused on your studies, and not spend all of your time gallivanting across the castle with your friends, or committing… shall we say, “unseen hijinks” of your own. But I also hope you are finding a good balance, between your friends and school and Quidditch practice._

_By the by, if you suspect Master Prewett will put you in for one of the other Chasers next month, do send us an owl as quickly as possible. Your mother and I would happily make the trip up to the castle to see you soaring about the pitch and relive our glory days cheering for Gryffindor. And if not, remember to be patient — Hogwarts was not built in a day, and you shall certainly make the team properly next year if you keep working at it._

_Things are quiet here in the Hollow, though we hear the most horrible things from our neighbors about the ongoing conflict with the Death Eaters. It is a great comfort to both Euphemia and I that you are safe at school, far away from all of this mess. Were we but younger, and able to do more… Hopefully, this all will be over long before your time at Hogwarts is done._

_Write back soon,_

_Your loving parents_

 

James folded the letter from his parents over on itself and crumpled it down into his pocket, feeling guilty eight different ways.

He didn’t feel bad about keeping the truth about his fight with Remus from a secret. Remus had spent the better part of a year and a half keeping his secret from the rest of them — he couldn’t very well just casually tell his parents he was a werewolf. So if the extent of his Remus-related correspondence was “we were fighting and we stopped fighting,” that would just have to be fine.

No, it was the “unseen hijinks” that were eating away at him. Remus’s secret was out in the open now, something they could get used to. James’s was still hidden under his mattress, waiting for another trip out into the castle alone.

He’d been guilt-free before Remus had revealed everything to them. Last Tuesday, James used the free period before Charms to follow Blake Wilson into his History of Magic class and throw pebbles at him every time he started to fall asleep. And he didn’t feel bad about any of it — not blowing off Sirius’s invitation to head back up to the common room, not showing up 10 minutes late to Charms afterwards because he lost track of time, and certainly not making the person who should have been bloody reserve on the Quidditch team instead of him pay attention in class for the first time in his life.

But ever since Remus had told them about his…condition…James couldn’t bring himself to take the cloak out from under his bed.

It didn’t make sense to feel guilty about the cloak. Nothing had really changed. James had kept the cloak a secret before he knew anything was happening with Remus. And his dad had told him not to tell anybody else about it — not, “don’t tell anyone else about it unless they tell you they’re a werewolf first.”

He was not doing a good job of convincing himself.

“Hey, what did you get for this Transfiguration problem?” Peter said, sliding down the table a little closer to James. The four of them had stayed at their tables in the Great Hall after dinner, cramming for a nasty test McGonagall had planned for them in the morning. “Based on the variables we have, it looks like ‘Wilbur Wizard’ isn’t going to turn his lion into a lamb, much less a lamppost.”

“It would actually be harder to turn a lion into a lamb—” Sirius interjected, earning a glare from Remus. “Well it would! Rowan’s Coefficient clearly indicates—”

“You’re right, Peter,” James said simply. “When I plugged all our numbers into the equation, I got 17 over 58. Not even close.”

“See, this is why this subject drives me mad,” Remus said, running his hands through his hair. “All of these formulas are great and all, but they’re completely impractical. Like you’re going to take one look at a lion rushing toward you, calculate its viciousness on a scale of 1 to 11, and then calculate that against your relative wand strength and concentration. You’re just going to hex the thing before it tears your face off.”

“Well it’s not like you’re going to start doing maths on the spot. It’s an instinctual thing,” Sirius replied. It was an old argument between them. James was supposed to back Sirius up right after Remus said—

“I can do the maths. I’m just saying it’s ridiculous to be expected to do them in a high-pressure situation.”

“Right, but when you’re good at this, you’re not doing the math at all, you’re just taking stock of everything around you and quickly weighing it against everything else. James—”

James decided to try something different this time. “Remus, you’re right.”

Sirius stammered himself to a dead stop.

“You can’t do Transfiguration maths when you’re out in the real world,” James said. “But the point of learning the maths isn’t so you can ever actually do them. It’s so you understand all the elements that go into a transfiguration. Imagine if someone tried to transfigure you when you were in your wolf form.”

Sirius and Peter both froze, eyes darting to Remus. The werewolf himself had gone pale, but as James watched, he seemed to muster up all his courage and lean forward across the table, resting on his elbows.

“Explain,” Remus said, in a flat whisper. “Quietly.”

There was a very real chance, James was realizing, that he’d made a very bad mistake.

“So,” James started slowly, “we know that, as a werewolf, you’re a very dangerous magical being. And your body mass is slightly increased. Put those together, and there’s a very high denominator opposing any wizard trying to change you into something other than your wolf form.”

“Right.”

“In order for a successful transformation to occur, the final number—” James reached out with his quill and circled the _t_ in his textbook — “has to be greater than that starting denominator.”

“I know. I’m good at maths. And transforming into a murderous canine.”

James hoped that wasn’t a threat. “But you don’t have to know any of the actual numbers in this situation to understand that transfiguration isn’t the right way to handle bumping into you on a full moon. Because we would know that, being a dangerous, human-sized object, your denominator is much too high to overcome, even with all the wand strength and concentration in the world.”

Something seemed to shift in Remus’s expression. He was actually getting it.

“Whereas if I was transfiguring a small, inanimate object,” Remus said, “I shouldn’t really have to worry. Because now that I’m not an ickle firstie anymore, I should have both the strength and focus to change it into whatever I want.”

“Yes,” James said, half-smiling. “The only thing that would change either situation is this last variable.” He circled the _Z_ on the page now. “Knowing the right words or wand movements to make your transfiguration work. If someone could ever figure out the right thing to say when they pointed their wand at you—”

“I could be back to my old self again right away every month.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Don’t hold your breath, James. Werewolves have been around longer than Hogwarts. I think if there was a way to transfigure me into anything but a feral wolf-monster, I’d have heard about it.”

“I’m not talking about anything practical,” James said, fully smirking now. “I’m just talking theory. And it sounds like you understand the theory now?”

“You know what,” Remus said, “I actually do. Thanks, James. And here I thought you were just being provocative to be difficult.”

“Nope,” James said, as Peter and Sirius finally dared to move again. “Just being provocative to be helpful.”

“Could that really work?” Peter said, eyes wide. “Maybe we could try some things out?”

“What, you’re just going to wait for the next full moon and start wiggling your wands at me and saying nonsense words until I rip your throats out?” Remus’s tone seemed joking, but there was a hard edge to his words. “Save it, Peter. I’m just glad I don’t have to keep this a secret from you three anymore.”

“We should make a promise,” Sirius said suddenly. “No more secrets between us. Remus, we know about your furry problem. You all know my baggage. Peter’s already told us about his parents splitting up. And as we’ve seen on literally every one of our birthdays so far, James can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“Err, right,” James said.

This was it. Last chance to come clean about the Invisibility Cloak he’d kept secret since last Christmas.

“I should probably get something off my chest then,” James said, heart beating a million times a minute. “Remus, we’ve already scrapped all of our original plans for your birthday next month. Per Peter’s suggestion, the new theme is ‘Teenage Werewolf.’ You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

_Dearest Remus,_

_Happy, happy birthday to you! Your dad and I wish we could be there to celebrate with you, but he assures me this letter should make it to you on the right day at least._

_13! It’s a big year. I hope you and the boys are celebrating appropriately. But responsibly!I always imagined there’s the chance for terrible rowdiness at a boarding school._

_I hope you enjoy your presents. Your father went all the way in to London to pick up all the magical bits and bobs. My contribution is more tried-and-true: your favorite assortment of toffees. Or at least I hope they’re still your favorite. I remember my tastes changing so frequently when I was your age._

_In answer to your question in your last letter — I think having your friends come visit for part of the summer would be a splendid idea! We will, of course, have to think about the moon. Perhaps the boys could come shortly after term ends, for a week or so? Or, if you’d prefer to wait a little while, they could join us the week after instead. You’ll have to discuss and decide._

_Don’t worry about writing us back right away. Enjoy the rest of your weekend with your friends. We’ll look forward to hearing from you soon. Love you,_

_Mum & Dad_

 

Remus skipped the smaller rectangular parcels and went straight for the cylindrical tin of toffee. His mum was still right about that.

He’d slipped back up to the dorm room right after breakfast, brown paper packages stowed under his arm. His parents were terribly practical about birthdays — always things they knew he needed, always wrapped up in simple butchers’ paper. Except for the toffee. But his mother would say that toffee _was_ practical.

“Hey, Remus!”

Peter pulled back the curtain on Remus’s bed, and he let out a yelp, nearly choking on a bit of almond. Sirius was standing there too, laughing hysterically at Remus.

“Bloody hell,” Remus said, trying to catch his breath. “What in god’s name are you two doing? For all you knew I could have been, I don’t know, naked.”

“Ew,” Peter said, wrinkling up his nose.

“Oh, move over and share, you git,” Sirius said. “I haven’t gotten sweets for my birthday since ’65.”

“Where’s James?” Remus asked, as Sirius and Peter sat next to him.

“Not sure,” Peter said. “He disappeared not long after you headed back upstairs. Maybe he had Quidditch practice?”

“Cold as death out there today,” Sirius muttered, mouth full of toffee. “Can’t believe he convinced me to even try out for that stupid team.”

“Well, I’ll have to ask him later,” Remus said, lowering his voice in case Jack or Nabin came in. “But I wrote to my parents about the summer? And my mum says that as long as you aren’t there during a full moon you can definitely come by for a week or two.”

“That’s great!” Peter said. “I’ll have to write my dad right away to ask.”

“I probably shouldn’t even bother,” Sirius said glumly. “Things between my mum and I are so tense… And I have that bitch Bellatrix’s wedding on July 13.”

Remus pulled open his nightstand and reached for his diary. “Well, that’s around when I’ll be changing — so maybe you can come visit and then go straight to the wedding? I mean, we’re out in Wiltshire, but with Apparition your parents shouldn’t have any trouble picking you up.”

Sirius gave him a strange smile. “Remus, don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s no way my parents are setting foot in a house where a Muggle is living. And your dad is a lifelong Ministry man, to boot.”

“Aw, you have to come!” Peter said. “Haven’t you been on ‘good behavior,’ or whatever?”

“So Remus,” Sirius said, changing the subject. “When are you going to tell your parents that you told us about being a…you-know-what?”

Remus shifted awkwardly. In dodging his own uncomfortable question, Sirius had asked Remus the one he wasn’t sure how to answer himself.

“I don’t know,” he started simply. “I feel like I can’t just write it in a letter, you know? And my dad is so, so particular about me keeping this a secret. He’s going to go mental.”

“I mean, we can keep a secret,” Peter said. “It’s not like he has to be worried.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Remus said. “And even if he did, it’s not about you. He’s going to be disappointed in me for telling _anyone._ ”

“Your mum doesn’t care?” Sirius asked.

Remus just shrugged. “I mean… She’s a Muggle, you know? She gets that when I transform, I’m dangerous, but not all the rest of it. Because the Ministry’s helped us keep things under wraps for so long, I don’t think she realizes what would happen if people actually knew about me.”

“Well, I promise not to say anything about it either way,” Peter said, “unless you tell me otherwise.”

“Same,” Sirius said. “Not like I’ll be there anyhow.”

“You should still ask,” Remus said. “Who knows? Maybe Walburga will be in a giving mood.”

“That… does not sound like her,” Sirius replied. “But it’s fine. You and Peter and James will have a fantastic time. Send me a postcard from Wiltshire or something.”

Remus wished there was something he could do about Sirius’ family. But it wasn’t like he could write to pureblood fanatics like Walburga and Orion Black and say “Hi, I’m your son’s friend, the half-blood werewolf. Can he come to play this summer?”

“C’mon, Remus,” Peter was saying, “Show us what else you got from your parents.”

“It’s not going to be that great,” Sirius laughed. “Remember last year, he got all those boring books.”

“They were interesting books!” Remus said, reaching for the top parcel.

“They were most certainly not.” Sirius replied with a grin. “But we still like you anyway.”

Remus had told his best friends that he was a werewolf a month ago, and they still liked him anyway. It was practically unbelievable.

* * *

 

_Peter,_

_Apologies for not writing this letter sooner. I was called abroad suddenly, on serious business, and didn’t bring Mordred with. But I’m home now, and can properly consider your request._

_After doing a little digging on Remus’s father, I don’t know that I foresee a problem with you staying with him. Lyall Lupin is a well-respected member of the Ministry, and presumably his Muggle wife is nice too._

_And in fact, their invitation is actually the solution to another problem I’m foreseeing. While I’m home for the time being, I anticipate that I will need to be leaving regularly every month or so. We’ve been having problems with shipping materials to a particular client, and I think I’m going to need to be more directly involved with the delivery process, at least until we can find and train someone trustworthy._

_It won’t be a problem before you’re home…but I think I will still need to be out of the country when your term concludes. Would you ask your friend Remus if his parents might let you return home with them right away after you get off the Hogwarts Express? I could send Mordred with a timed Portkey to take you back home at the conclusion of your visit — I think you said you would be staying until the 13_ _ th _ _? I expect to be back sometime the following week, and I expect you’re old enough to be able to fend for yourself at the house._

_Heck, I’ll even leave some Muggle money on the counter. You can treat yourself to London take-away, like you’re in a real bachelor pad._

_Let me know what the Lupins say, and I will begin making arrangements. Once I return home in July, we’ll have the whole rest of the summer to spend together. Hope your Easter holiday isn’t terribly busy — I’ve always thought it’s a crime for your professors to give you work to do over the break. But I’m sure you’ll excel, as always._

_Dad_

 

Peter looked up from the letter, face beaming. “My dad says I can come visit this summer, Remus!”

“Took long enough for him to write back,” James muttered, not looking up from the class list in front of him. There were only five elective courses being offered for their next year, but he was treating the decision like life or death.

_(Probably worried about which ones are going to get in the way of his bloody Quidditch practice.)_

“That’s great, Peter,” Remus said. Peter could just barely see his elbow shifting to nudge James, who sighed and folded the parchment closed again.

“When are you coming in?” James asked. “Same as me?”

“Err…that’s the thing.” Peter wasn’t quite sure how to ask. He was just going to have to jump right into it. “My dad’s going out of the country at the end of June, so he was wondering if I could just…come home with you from Platform 9 and 3/4?”

“Oh,” Remus said, looking surprised. “Sure, I guess. I’ll check with my mum and dad but I can’t imagine it’ll be a big deal.”

“You should steal Peter’s idea, Sirius,” James said. “Tell your parents to offload you on Mr. and Mrs. Lupin.”

“I’m not being offloaded!”

“That’s actually not the worst idea, James,” Sirius said. “If Peter’s dad is willing to dump him in the country for half the month, maybe I actually _can_ get my parents to do the same.”

“You guys are the worst,” Peter said, folding up the letter from his dad and tucking it in his bag.

“Hey, Potter!”

Peter turned a bit to see Jack coming up to their table, sliding in on the end. “You change your mind about joining me and Nabin in Divination next year?” Jack continued. “I’m telling you: _Everyone_ in my family says it’s the easiest class out of the whole bunch. You just get to daydream and make up fortunes about everyone.”

“You know what’s even easier than taking Divination?” James said. “ _Not_ taking Divination.”

On their other side, there was a snort from Lily Evans, who looked like she was about to spit out her pumpkin juice. Next to Peter, Mary MacDonald looked up from her copy of the _Prophet_ and glared at her friend.

“Stop laughing, Lil. You agreed you would take Divination with me so I wasn’t stuck alone with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dawlish.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lily said, coughing a little. “Just caught me by surprise.” She smiled down the table at James, who was already ear-to-ear.

_(Merlin’s beard, James, she just laughed at a joke. You’re not the funniest boy in Hogwarts.)_

“Alright,” Jack said. “If you’re not going to take Divination, what are you signing up for?”

“Well, I don’t want to hate myself for taking exceptionally boring classes,” James replied, “so that pretty much leaves Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies. Which we are _all_ taking, right, Remus?”

“Mate, seriously?” James had been pestering Remus about the four of them all taking a class together practically since the minute McGonagall had distributed class lists. “My mum’s a Muggle. I’ve spent my entire life in Muggle communities. Why the hell would I take Muggle Studies?”

“Pete’s taking Muggle Studies,” James retorted. “He knows way more about Muggle culture than you.

_(Aw, don’t bring me into it.)_

“That’s not the point,” Remus said, “and it’s probably not true either. I just don’t think I can swing taking four extra classes next year.”

“Then drop one of the boring ones,” James said. “I still don’t understand why you’re taking Arithmancy. Or Ancient Runes with that teacher who looks more like a ghost than Binns.”

“Hey,” Sirius said. “ _I’m_ taking Ancient Runes. Don’t judge a class by how old its professor is. I heard Ash-Karlsen is going to retire next year anyway.”

_(Retire from being alive, maybe.)_

“See, this is why I’m not even worrying about these electives,” Mary said. “Most of them are completely impractical for daily life. If I wanted to spend my time deciphering meaningless scribbles, I would just look over your shoulder at your handwriting, Black.”

“Ouch,” Jack and Remus said in unison.

Sirius’s face went bright red, and Peter could see him bristle. “What’s got you so sour, MacDonald? Someone finally tell you those bangs make it look like you’re wearing a helmet?”

Mary didn’t react to his jab. She just slammed her _Prophet_ down on the table. “Did you see this? Another Death Eater attack. This one in broad daylight. They just appeared in the center of town, started levitating Muggles left and right, throwing them at each other.”

The whole table went silent.

“Merlin’s beard,” James breathed, turning the newspaper slightly to be able to read it. “14 dead. A dozen more in Mungo’s.”

“And one missing,” Mary said, tapping a particular paragraph with her finger. “Kristen Hansen, a Muggleborn witch who lived in the area. She’s a secretary at the Ministry in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.”

“That’s weird,” Remus said, reading over James’s shoulder. “It says here that ‘when the Aurors who responded to the scene first tried to assail the Dark wizards and witches, their spells seemed to glance off harmlessly, deflected by glowing necklaces and rings worn by the attackers.’”

“You know, I think my father said something about that to me in a letter,” Jack said. “My mum works for Slug & Jiggers, the apothecary in Diagon Alley, and I guess she’s been out in the field the last few months. He said she told him all of these different ingredients have gone up in price since Christmas: rue, St. John’s wort, powdered dragon bone…like there’s a run on the market. She thinks people are buying them all up to create defensive charms and amulets, and her suppliers just can’t find any more.”

Peter’s breath caught, slightly.

_(Something about this sounds terribly, terribly familiar.)_

“Well, the Death Eaters are probably doing the same thing,” Mary said, folding her paper back up. “Just a lot better. Hopefully the Ministry can find out how they’re doing it and cut off their supply. Sometime before more of _you_ kill more of us.”

Sirius, James and Jack all looked at her like they’d been slapped.

“Hey,” Sirius said, before any of the others could stop him. “If any one of us is not on the wrong side of this bloody war, it’s me. My parents barely speak to me. Part of that is _because_ I don’t agree with them.”

“I don’t care that you don’t agree with them,” Mary said. “That doesn’t mean you care about _us._ What Muggleborns like Lily and I are dealing with every single day.”

“Mary, that’s not fair,” Lily said. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Hey,” Peter said, surprising himself. “Look, we’re all sad about the attack, Mary. But you can’t take it out on us. We didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” she spat back at him as she got to her feet. “You’re all just sitting here, not doing anything. Arguing about whether or not you _have_ to take Muggle Studies. Like they’re not people to you. Just another class for you to barely pay attention to.”

She stormed off, leaving the rest of them at a loss. Lily looked down at her food, clearly trying to decide whether to storm off with her or just try to blend into the floor.

“Don’t take it personally,” Nabin said, looking over at Sirius. “We all know you’re on our side.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “She just needed to take her frustrations out on someone. With your last name, you’re an easy target.”

“I’m sick of being an easy target,” Sirius said, pushing his plate away and burying his head in his arms. “I would kill to have one of your last names instead of my own these days. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black does not have much going for it these days.”

“You’re still a Gryffindor,” Lily said, with a sad smile. “Your brother’s like the rest of them, and you’re not. That matters, Sirius.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he muttered, getting up to his feet. “I think I should probably go after Mary. At least apologize for the bangs thing.”

“Don’t apologize too hard,” James said. “You’re not wrong about them.”

“Grow up, James Potter,” Lily said, standing up herself. “Come on, Sirius. I’ll come with you.”

The two of them left side by side, quietly chatting among themselves. James and Remus both watched them go.

“For someone who wants to be friends with Lily Evans,” Peter said, in half a whisper, “you’re doing a pretty awful job of it, James.”

The look James gave him could have stripped the paint off a wall. “Bite me, Pettigrew.”

Peter choked back the usual retort — “Ask Remus; he’s better at it” — just before saying it in front of Jack.

“Whatever,” Peter said, picking up his bag from the ground. “I’m going back up to the — well, I’m going to be around the castle. You know where to find me if you’re going to be less grumpy about everything.”

Peter hoped James and Remus really wouldn’t follow him, as he stormed off toward the Cavern. He could use a little time alone, without all the drama James brought along with him.

He didn’t feel alone, though, sulking upstairs and writing a response to his father. It felt like James’s presence was lingering about. Judging him.

But he was being paranoid. More paranoid than poor Mary MacDonald, convinced every pureblood was out to get her.

“It’s sad,” he wrote to his father, hesitating over what to say next. “I know she’s right to be worried, for herself and for her family. But that’s all happening out there in the world. It doesn’t have anything to do with us. And I wish she could see that there’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

It was a good argument. He couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t quite convincing enough.

* * *

Sirius had hoped that his mother might write back right away, or at least within the week. Did it count as being disappointed when you didn’t expect something you were hoping for to actually happen?

“I’m sorry about your mum,” Remus said, looking up from his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes. “Maybe we could just ‘kidnap’ you on our way home at the end of the month. Just slip you right off the Hogwarts Express and onto the one headed west to Wiltshire.”

“Sure, we could do that.” Sirius replied dryly. “You’re okay with my parents and their friends showing up to take me back and make an example out of you and your family, right? Before you answer, remember that some of those friends are anti-Muggle fanatics, and I lied to my mother and told her your mum was a witch. Walburga despises learning she’s been lied to.”

“Okay, okay,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “Sorry I asked.”

Sirius probably could have been a little nicer, he supposed. But he was already irritated that they were sitting in the Cavern on a gorgeous June day, going over things he mostly already knew about their Defense Against the Dark Arts final Monday morning. As far as he was concerned, if he didn’t already know how to properly perform a Knockback Jinx, it was too late to learn.

“Professor Egg said the stuff we learned when Lexington was still here wouldn’t be on the exam, right?” Peter was leafing frantically through the index of _The Dark Arts Unsmarted_. “I can’t remember whether it’s sea serpents or hippocampus you’re supposed to watch out for when you’re visiting the Mediterranean.”

“It’s neither,” James said, not bothering to look up. “Remember? Egg had that whole class in January where he debunked half the stuff Lexington taught us this year and last. I think you’re fine sticking to our current professor’s curriculum.”

Across the room, the last chords of _With the Beatles_ echoed through the room, and Sirius jumped to his feet.

“My turn,” he said, before James could make a suggestion. He had the weirdest taste in Muggle music. “Peter, where’d you put that new Bowie album your dad just sent you?”

“Ugh, really?” Peter said. “I think it’s in the bookshelf. It’s just no _Ziggy Stardust_ , you know?”

“That’s what I like about it,” Sirius said with a grin. “ _Ziggy_ is so much more serious. _Aladdin Sane_ is actually fun.”

“It is frankly hilarious that you are a bloody _Rolling Stone_ critic these days,” Remus laughed. “This time last year, I had to explain to you what a guitar was.”

“And believe me, ‘handheld harp’ remains an extremely inaccurate description, in retrospect,” Sirius replied. “I know _you_ didn’t really grow up with a lot of wizards, but trust me: the pureblood houses of Britain are not sitting around with harps in their sitting rooms.”

“Well, except the Greengrasses,” James said with a smirk. “Sirius, have you ever—”

“Yes! That horrible parlor, with the double piano. My parents dragged me there once over the holidays and Mr. Greengrass made Emory and his mother play the most awful music for everyone. Thing probably hasn’t been tuned since the 1800s.”

Sirius started putting the record on, but then Peter suddenly looked up. “Hey, hang on a second. What time is it?”

Sirius turned to look at the big clock on the wall. “Uh…almost 4, looks like. Why?”

“Guys!” Peter jumped to his feet. “We’re going to miss our last History of Magic class!”

There was silence for a moment in the room. Then Sirius, Remus and James all burst out laughing at the same time. Sirius even had to lean up against the wall, trying not to slide down it.

“Great galloping giggle water, Peter,” Sirius gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I haven’t heard anything so funny in weeks.”

He was going to miss this, over the summer. And the other three weren’t. That part hurt too.

They’d stayed in the Cavern for hours after that, sending one or the other out into the rest of the castle to pick up rations from the kitchen, or nick stuff from the common room to entertain themselves. By the time the four of them snuck back into Gryffindor Tower, it was well past curfew — midnight at least, maybe more.

But Sirius wasn’t missing out on his extremely necessary nine hours of sleep, so when he heard the other boys all getting up for breakfast, he rolled back over, ignoring their shouts in his direction.

“Sirius,” he heard James say in his ear. “Sirius, wake up mate.”

“James,” Sirius groaned. “I’m exhausted. Just go on to breakfast without me.”

“We already did.” Peter was there too, it seemed. Which meant Remus would be next to irritate him.

“Sirius,” he said. “You got a letter from home.”

Sirius sat bolt-upright in bed. The dormitory was empty except for him and his three friends, who were huddled around him in various states of expectation. It was later in the day, he realized suddenly, closer to noon than nine.

“Let me see,” he said, pulling it out of Remus’s hand. He could clearly see his name was in his mother’s handwriting.

“Your owl bit me,” Peter complained. “The big old thing wouldn’t let anybody take the letter except Remus.”

“Good judge of character then,” Sirius muttered, thinking. Maybe his dad had dropped dead. That would be much more believable than…

He broke the Black family seal on the back and tore the envelope open.

_Sirius,_

_As you well know, we have already discussed the terms by which you will repair your estrangement from our family. For you to try to renegotiate those terms is impudent at best._

_And yet…some impudence is better than others. And some requests have unintended benefits._

_While I myself think agreeing to let you spend time with your school friends over the summer is an error, your father makes the valid argument that your absence might allow us to better prepare for Bella’s wedding. As such, we are granting you permission to visit with your friend Remus’s family, even if his parents_ are _both half-bloods and Mugglelovers._

_In your original letter, you request the opportunity to visit for a week, but mention that your other friend will be going straight back to the Lupin home after your return on the Hogwarts Express. That would be our preference as well. On the 13_ _ th _ _, the morning of the wedding, we shall send your Uncle Alphard to acquire you. This, to us, strikes an acceptable compromise that allows us to avoid entering the home of a wizard and witch whose beliefs we cannot truly espouse._

_Do not mistake this bit of mercy for a change in our beliefs, or our compact. You are still to behave yourself for the remainder of the term. You are still to be the perfect gentleman at Bella’s wedding. And you are to return home after that wedding and abjure any and all impudent beliefs you may have picked up in your weeks with the Lupins._

_In a way, this is a marvelous little test. Pass, and we shall know more than we expected about your capacity for serving our family name in the years to come. Fail — well, that shall give us a better picture as well._

_Mother_

 

“What does it say?”

Sirius realized he hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed maybe, since he’d finished reading the letter. He threw it onto the bed and smiled. “I can come! She said I can come visit!”

In the middle of their exuberant, mad, four-way hug, Sirius couldn’t help but think that there was no way Regulus had friends like these three brilliant Gryffindors. Maybe he was the lucky one after all.


	8. Roll Over Beethoven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the last day of their second year, the boys go back to the Cavern one last time... with unfortunate consequences.

“Alright, everyone,” James said, raising his goblet high. “A toast. Two years down, five to go!”

“Hear, hear!” Peter shouted, loudly, sloshing his glass of Butterbeer a little.

“Jeez, Peter, be careful,” Sirius said, stepping a half-pace toward Remus to avoid the splash. “We’ve only got so much of the stuff.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” Remus said. “The kitchen elves said they would be too tired after the real feast to send more periodically. I think they just don’t like me, though. I hardly got any of the good tarts.”

They were up in the Cavern, one last time before they left Hogwarts for the summer, and Peter wouldn’t have been anywhere else in the world.

“I’ve got to say,” James said, after slugging back some of his drink and sitting back down in his armchair. “You have certainly outdone yourself, Peter.”

Peter looked around the Cavern. Normally, when they were down here, he left the decor as it was, that sort of cozy study feel. But it was their last night at Hogwarts. He wanted it to be special.

So practically all day today, he’d been here, sprucing the place up. The record player was center stage, with a dozen albums pre-pulled out of the bookshelf and stacked beside it. And Gryffindor bunting was strewn from corner to corner, a nice reprieve from the Hufflepuff banners that hung from the ceiling downstairs.

_(Of course House Nicey-Nice won the Cup this year, when everyone needs a pick-me-up.)_

He’d gone down to the library and checked out next year’s edition of _The Standard Book of Spells,_ skimming through chapters until he found the spell he wanted. It’d taken him a long time to get it right—

_(And, if he was being honest, the back of the suede sofa he’d accidentally burnt would probably never look the same.)_

—but there were now a half dozen floating lights brightening the space in place of the normal lamps, bathing the room in a golden half-glow. It was bright and dark all at once — exactly the right tone for an after-feast party. He would have to do it more often next year.

The only thing the party needed was Butterbeer and snacks — requested by Remus and sent up by the Hogwarts house-elves to be here when they arrived — and his wonderful, wonderful friends.

“Is this the new Harrison album?” Sirius asked, pulling one of the records off the stack and setting his glass down to properly handle it. “We’re going to listen to this later, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” Peter said. “But I listened to it right after my dad sent it along, and you do not want to _start_ a party with it. I thought we could use something a little more rock and roll.”

“Well, you can’t go wrong with the Rolling Stones,” Remus said, bouncing his head in time with the music. “So you’ve done alright in my book.”

“So what are you all doing this weekend, while you don’t have me around?” James asked, a smirk across his face. “Am I going to have to show up next week and torture you all until you admit what terrible things you’ve said about me?”

“Maybe, if you keep being such a pickled arse about it,” Sirius said.

 _(I_ think _that’s a joke?)_

They’d finalized the arrangements for visiting Remus over the last few weeks. As his father had requested, Peter was going to go straight home with the Lupins, along with Sirius. James’s family had been a little reticent to send him right away though — Peter got the sense they were wary of going too long without seeing him, at their age. He’d promised them a weekend at home, and then they were going to bring him out to Wiltshire in person for the rest of the fortnight.

“Sorry your parents love you and want to spend time with you,” Sirius continued. “That must be so inconvenient.”

“Ugh,” Remus groaned. “We get it, Sirius. Your parents are the worst. They only care about you if you pretend to be the perfect little pureblood boy. I’ll be looking forward to your sad profile in the _Daily Prophet_ on Sunday.”

“Hey, you turn into a werewolf every 28 days and your parents still love you the rest of the time. All I did was get sorted into Gryffindor.”

“Twenty-nine and a half,” Peter and Remus said simultaneously. They looked at each other quickly and then burst into giggles.

“Whatever!” Sirius shouted, downing the rest of his Butterbeer and getting up for the bottle.

“More here too,” James called out, finishing his. “Too bad we don’t have any Firewhisky. Then this would be a real party.”

“I’ve never had Firewhisky,” Peter said, as Sirius topped off his glass. “Is it nice?”

“Nice is _not_ the right word,” Sirius interrupted, before James could say anything. “But it is exceedingly well-named. Regulus and I nicked some at the holidays two years back. I kept it together, but the prat started crying after one sip. Oh, the thrashing we got from our father…”

“Maybe next year, then,” James said. “We’ll be able to go to Hogsmeade then. There’s got to be someone in the village who sells bottles under the table.”

“Oh yeah,” Remus said, “that’s what we need. To come down here every weekend and get completely pissed instead of just a little buzzed on special occasions. No thanks. I will stick with this lovely stuff.”

“Hey, speaking of lovely stuff…” James started looking around the room, and then got out of his chair and started rummaging through the pile of treats along the back wall. “Peter, weren’t you going to grab the Fizzing Whizzbees out of your trunk? Remember, we were going to see if Butterbeer actually makes them work better?”

“Oh no!” Peter shouted. “I totally forgot.”

_(Way to go, dummy.)_

He took another sip of his Butterbeer and then stood up, wiping a bit of foam from his upper lip. “Look, why don’t I just run get them? It’s still way before curfew. I’ll be back in like 20 minutes. Maybe less depending on the staircases.”

“It’s not a big deal,” James said. But his face told a different story.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Peter said, pulling his robe out of the pile they’d thrown on top of their school bags. “You all stay here, and relax. I know right where they are. I’m just going to nip upstairs and then come right back down. Just don’t drink all the Butterbeer without me.”

“We’ll behave ourselves,” Remus called after him as he headed for the entrance. “See you in a little bit.”

“Sounds good,” Peter said, turning back to look at them and wave as he stepped back into the Charms corridor. He could see Sirius starting to shout something too, but it was too late — he was already passing through, and all he could hear was—

“—you’ve all done such good work this term, I think a graduation toast is the least that—“

Peter whipped his head back around at the sound of a voice. Not just any voice, he realized. Professor O’Brien’s voice.

_(Merlin’s balls.)_

Sure enough, there was the pudgy old professor himself, stopping dead in his tracks to stare directly at Peter. And he wasn’t alone. There were a half-dozen students behind him, all seventh-years by the look of them, equally dumbfounded. The only one he recognized was the one standing right next to O’Brien. A taller girl, with short black hair, graceful poise and bright green eyes that were presently wide with surprise but quickly narrowing into suspicion. Sarina Valera. A Gryffindor prefect.

Peter did the only thing he could. He ran — back into the Cavern, quick as a flash.

Remus and Sirius both leapt to their feet when they saw him come in, and James nearly spilled the Butterbeer he was pouring into his goblet.

“Merlin’s slippers, Pete,” Sirius said. “What the bloody hell is wrong? You look like you’ve seen the Grim.”

“No Grim,” Peter said, frantically looking about the room. “Students. Prefects. Professor. PEOPLE.”

_(what were they gonna do what were they gonna do)_

“Shite,” Remus said, looking at his full glass of Butterbeer. He dumped it out, sloshing foam across the floor. “Did they see you? Are they coming?”

“Look,” Sirius said simply, pointing.

Peter turned to look at the hazy entrance to the Cavern. The whole lot of them were there, huddled around the entrance to the Cavern. The students looked ready to jump through, but O’Brien had an arm stretched out to hold them back, and was running his wand along the edges of the entrance, saying something the boys couldn’t hear.

“Maybe we can move one of the bookshelves in front of the entrance?” Peter said, drawing his wand. “Can you use the Locomotor spell on something that heavy?”

“Maybe if all four of us do it,” Sirius said, pulling out his wand. “Start taking books off; it’ll make it lighter.”

“But then how do we get out?” Remus asked.

“We’ll figure that out next.” Peter replied, going over to the shelf and pulling books out a handful at a time. “Come on, James, help us with this and then we’ll—”

When he turned around to look, James wasn’t there.

_(What in the world?)_

“Jesus H. Christ,” Remus breathed. He and Sirius had turned around to see the same thing as Peter. Or, rather, to _not_ see the same thing.

“James!” Sirius shouted. “James, where the hell are you?”

“Maybe he found another exit on accident,” Peter said, heart leaping with excitement. But as he spun around the room, he couldn’t see another shimmering spot in the wall, like the entrance to the Cavern. Maybe the floor… Or the ceiling…

“We don’t have time,” Sirius said. “Either we move the bookshelf or we just sit here and wait to get caught.”

_(And the record player is still running, revolving, Mick Jagger just keeps saying “under my thumb” over and over again, where did James go?)_

“Look, we’re not out of bounds and we’re not past curfew,” Remus shouted back. “If we can get rid of the Butterbeer, or hide it somewhere, there isn’t any contraband in here.”

“And the turntable,” Peter said. “The turntable isn’t allowed in Hogwarts. It’s a violation of the…Act of Something…”

_(It doesn’t matter what Act. It matters that your dad told you to keep it a secret and you didn’t. Now you’ve ruined everything.)_

“It’s a what?” Remus shouted.

“We can’t get rid of any of it!” Sirius shouted back. “So our only option is to keep them from getting in until we can find a different way out.”

“Oh, I think it’s a little too late for that, boys.”

The three of them spun around toward the entrance. The hazy film that normally concealed the Cavern was gone, and Peter could see O’Brien and the seventh-years plain as day. And vice-versa, it seemed.

“Alright, no funny business,” Sarina said, gingerly walking into the room with her wand drawn. “Let’s go have a chat with Professor McGonagall, shall we?”

* * *

 

Peter had never been in McGonagall’s office before, but he couldn’t say he was enjoying the experience so far.

“So let me get this straight.”

He, Remus and Sirius were lined up in three chairs directly opposite their Head of House, a fireplace burning at their backs. The real heat was coming from the woman across the desk from them.

In her rage, Professor McGonagall somehow seemed more buttoned up than usual. When Sarina had brought them into her office, she had been just hanging up the set of deep teal robes she’d worn to the End-of-Term Feast, but she’d put them back on while Sarina was explaining the situation, seeming to grow angrier and angrier as she fastened each button.

_(If this is what getting called to McGonagall’s office is like, I am NEVER getting called to Dumbledore’s.)_

“Effectively since your arrival at Hogwarts last year,” McGonagall began, “you have known of a secret chamber in the Charms corridor. In the time since then, you have utilized this chamber as a place to hide after-hours and stow various forms of contraband.”

“We also study there sometimes,” Remus interjected.

Without moving any other muscle, McGonagall’s gaze slid slowly toward Remus. He shrank down in his seat without another word.

“On this particular occasion,” she continued, “you procured a not unimpressive sum of Butterbeer and food stolen from various meals over the prior week, intending to stay and celebrate until long after curfew. And when you were discovered by Professor O’Brien and several of his N.E.W.T.-level students, you quickly planned to protect your secret by barricading yourselves in the chamber, and were only prevented in doing so by Professor O’Brien’s arrival.”

McGonagall looked back and forth at each of them, one at a time.

“And on this occasion, it was only _you three_ in this secret chamber? Your friend, Mr. Potter — he did not wish to be included in your festivities?”

Peter looked to his left and quickly caught Sirius’s eye. They’d only been able to have the briefest, quietest of conversations about this on their way down to McGonagall’s office on the first floor, and he had not been in favor of the majority opinion.

“No,” Remus said first, without glancing at either of the others. “James didn’t want to join us tonight. I think he wanted to stay up in the common room, finish packing.”

“Or say goodbye to some of our other classmates,” Peter said, looking back at McGonagall and trying to keep his voice from quivering. “I think I saw him talking to Lily Evans when we left the Great Hall.”

“We’re sort of having a bit of a row with him anyway,” Sirius said, his tone clipped and serious. “Didn’t really want him to come.”

“I see.” McGonagall did not look like she believed a single word of it. But Peter couldn’t figure out how James had gotten out of the Cavern without them, and he _knew_ he had been there. McGonagall didn’t have a scrap of proof, and they were going to keep it that way.

“Well,” she said, setting her elbows on the table and leaning forward, with her hands folded together white-knuckle. “I think the three of you well know that your behavior is beyond the pale. Aside from all of the rules that you have admitted to breaking over the course of your first two years here, you have been risking your lives by playing games with this castle. I am sure not one of you considered the possibility that a concealed magical chamber might someday move, or close up, potentially with you still within.”

_(That was an unpleasant image to think about.)_

“I will admit, you three have excellent timing. Not many students are smart enough to only get caught rulebreaking on the final day of term, when the House Cup has already been awarded, and there are no more detentions remaining.”

Peter broke out in a small smile, and looked over to see the same on Remus and Sirius’s faces.

“It would have been wiser, though, to be caught five years from now, on your final day at Hogwarts. Because now, Gryffindor House will begin the year 100 points below the other houses.

“What?” Sirius and Peter shouted.

“Professor,” Remus started, “it isn’t fair to—”

“I think it is _exceedingly_ fair, Mr. Lupin.” McGonagall barely raised her voice, but Remus backed down instantly. “Thirty points apiece, _along_ with a detention when you return to school, is exceedingly fair, considering that you have admitted to multiple infractions over two years. I think I shall take the summer to decide whether your detention will be held during your first Hogsmeade weekend or not. I don’t want to make too rash a decision.”

_(No, don’t make any rash decisions. Draw it out, so we spend the whole summer fretting. Clever.)_

“That’s only 90 points, Professor,” Sirius said. “Not 100.”

“It _should_ be 120, Mr. Black.” McGonagall looked furious to be critiqued even so slightly. “While you have refused to admit whether your friend James has been with you any of the times you have been out past curfew or brought in contraband, he is, at minimum, complicit in your rulebreaking throughout the year. I cannot justify taking 30 points for his actions, or giving him a detention, but I think we can all agree a 10-point deduction is more than fair.”

The three of them knew better than to shout out their opposition by this point.

“And then there is this.”

When they arrived, McGonagall had cleared her desk completely so Sarina could put the turntable at the center of it. She looked down at it now, gingerly examining its various components.

“Sarina tells me this is a turntable, or record player. A Muggle contraption. And while it shouldn’t operate at Hogwarts…”

The Rolling Stones’ _Aftermath_ was still sitting on top of the platter, and McGonagall moved the arm of the player to rest on top of it. Immediately, the room was filled with sound — “Stupid Girl,” Peter quickly realized.

_(You know, if you were going to get caught with this thing, you could have been listening to a less deliberately offensive album.)_

“Well, the magic is perhaps more charming than the music,” McGonagall said dryly, pulling the needle off the record with a slight scratch that made Peter flinch. “It is also magic much more advanced than any of you should be able to pull off at this time in your lives. Where did you get it?”

They hadn’t discussed this, but mercifully Sirius and Remus were as silent as Peter. There was a long, painful silence between the four of them, McGonagall looking back and forth between them for any sign of weakness.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Sirius, Remus, you are dismissed. Tell Sarina she is to take you back up to the Gryffindor common room. I hope you can finish packing your trunks this evening without any further infractions.”

Sirius and Remus both got to their feet faster than Peter had ever seen them move. Remus hung back a second, put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Then he followed Sirius out, shutting the door behind them.

“Pettigrew,” McGonagall began.

Peter’s blood went cold.

“Perhaps you would like some tea?”

_(Well, that’s a bit unexpected.)_

“Um, sure,” Peter said.

McGonagall stood up and stepped through a small door at the back of the room, out of sight. Peter just sat awkwardly, waiting, wondering if he could somehow spontaneously combust before she got back.

She returned a moment later, carrying in a worn copper kettle that seemed to be boiling of its own volition. Two white teacups floated behind her on saucers, alighting on the desk on either end of his turntable.

“Let’s move this out of the way, shall we?” With a flick of her wand, the turntable slid to one end of the desk. She poured hot water into Peter’s cup first, then her own, and then set the kettle down on the desk beside her.

“Lovely kettle, isn’t it?” McGonagall adjusted her glasses as she looked at it, breathing gently on her cup to cool it.

“Erm, sure,” Peter said. He watched the leaves swirl in his own cup, waiting for her to speak again.

“It was my mother’s,” McGonagall finally said. “She gave it to me the summer after I graduated from Hogwarts. Sort of a housewarming gift, for my new flat in London. It’s the one she used all through my childhood — a regular, everyday Muggle tea kettle, as far as the eye could see. She was a witch, of course, unlike my father, so there’s little bits of magic in it — a mending here and there, a Cooling Charm affixed to the base to keep it from scalding whatever she or I absent-mindedly set it on.”

Sure enough, Peter could sense the enchantment once he was looking properly — a slick shimmer peeking up from the bottom of the kettle.

“I don’t appreciate it for the magic, Pettigrew, although I’m sure it did keep me from burning down the building once or twice. I appreciated that my mother gave it to me as a gift. That it was something she knew mattered to me, and mattered to her — something she’d passed along to me.

“I imagine this turntable is a bit similar then?” she asked, gesturing to the device.

Peter still didn’t say anything.

“I make a point of trying to learn a little bit about the home lives of the students in my house, Pettigrew.” McGonagall set down her teacup and folded her hands again. “I don’t remember your mother very well from our mutual time at Hogwarts — only a year of overlap, if I’m recollecting properly, and we were in different houses — but I do remember her being among the pureblood families with students in school at the time. Was it the McPhails?”

“On her mother’s side,” Peter allowed. “Her maiden name was Sayre.”

_(I don’t think this conversation is going in the right direction.)_

“Yes, that’s right,” McGonagall said. “Anna Sayre. Funny, the things you forget after so many years.

“At any rate. It’s not impossible that the daughter of two pureblood dynasties might have given you an enchanted Muggle object as a gift. But I suspect it’s your father’s work. I’ve heard from old friends in the Ministry that he’s in International Magical Cooperation, but he’s got a bit of a knack with making trades among wizards and Muggles both, I suspect?”

“I guess,” Peter said. He never tried to talk about his dad’s work, because he didn’t always know what was for the Ministry and what was on the side. Telling McGonagall about the side work might be safe — but she’d mentioned friends in the Ministry, and they weren’t supposed to know about the extra work.

If she kept pressing, he’d have to tell her something, though. Maybe it made sense to confess about the turntable, so he didn’t have to tell her about anything else…the trips out of the country, or his meeting at Alexandra Palace…

“He sent it to me as an early birthday present,” Peter blurted out. “Right after I came here to Hogwarts. We have a record player at home, but I left all my albums there, at first. I just thought I wouldn’t be able to listen to them. But then…”

“Then he sent you the turntable,” McGonagall finished with a nod. “Thank you for telling me, Pettigrew. I understand it wasn’t easy.”

_(He thought he’d feel better after steering her away from the rest of it. Why didn’t he feel better?)_

“Since you were sent this as a gift from your father,” she said. “I don’t think it’s appropriate that you be punished for keeping it. However, I don’t feel I can return it without speaking to someone at the Ministry first.”

“But it’s mine!” Peter shouted. His hands were shaking so much he was afraid of spilling his tea. “If I didn’t break any rules, you should have to give it back!”

“It’s not that simple.” McGonagall’s words were gentle, but firm. “There are strict rules about enchanting Muggle items, as you mostly likely know and your father certainly does. And they are not allowed in Hogwarts either way. I’m obligated to contact the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office about this object. It’s up to them what happens to it next. And to your father.”

“You can’t do that!”

_(Could he grab it and run? Not unless he wanted to find out what hexes McGonagall knew.)_

McGonagall took off her glasses and gently rubbed her eyes. “It has been a terribly long evening, and I can’t give you any other answer than this. I suggest you return to the Gryffindor common room and finish packing for your departure tomorrow. By the time you reach Kings Cross, I will have already corresponded with your father and the Ministry. Let us both put the matter into their hands.”

“But—”

“Pettigrew.” She had run out of patience, he realized. “I suggest. You return. To Gryffindor Tower. Go now, before curfew begins and I need to escort you myself. As I would be very unhappy to do.”

So he left.

The door swung back in on itself as he pushed through, hanging ajar ever so slightly, and Peter walked a few steps away from it in a state of shock.

Over the course of one single evening, he’d exposed the Cavern, one of his best friends had vanished without a trace, he and his two other best friends had likely ensured Gryffindor would lose _next year’s_ House Cup, and his father’s magic turntable — the one he was supposed to keep a secret from everyone — was now in the possession of the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, who was about to tell the Ministry of Magic that his father had broken the law to create it.

_(You’ve really done it now, champ.)_

He had to think of something he could do. He certainly couldn’t go over McGonagall’s head. The only person above her at the school was Dumbledore, and even if Peter thought the headmaster would side with him, he wasn’t going to go disturb him an hour to curfew on the last night of school to ask if he could be punished a little less for breaking the rules.

The only person he knew who his dad worked with was his boss, Steele. But he couldn’t send Ringo with a letter, because he couldn’t remember the arsehole’s bloody first name. And either way, what was he going to write? “Hey, guy I see every once in a while who employs my dad: Someone might tell you to sack him soon for a totally legitimate reason. Please don’t. Love, Peter.”

If only he knew someone else involved with the Ministry…someone who had ties to one of the Muggle-focused departments…

_(That’s it.)_

Peter took off down the hall at a run, ignoring the complaints of students, professors and ghosts he brushed past. He didn’t have much time, and he needed to get halfway across the castle and up and down several flights of stairs.

He’d never actually been to the professors’ office for Defense Against the Dark Arts — not with Brocken, Lexington or Egg. But he knew the office was tucked between the second and third floors, with two entrances leading directly into classrooms and the other one halfway up a stairwell on the northeast side of the castle.

He was practically out of breath by the time he got there, and practically fell up the steps to the small landing with Egg’s name over the door. He rapped on the door frame with one hand and held himself up with the other, gasping “Professor? Professor Egg?”

Peter didn’t hear anything, so he knocked again, this time on the door itself. It swung open slightly at his touch, much to his surprise.

_(What, has he left already?)_

“Hello?” Peter said, hesitantly entering and shutting the door behind him.

The room was large, as far as professors’ offices went, but felt much smaller with each step Peter took. Professor Egg had packed it full of furniture — a chaise lounge, three armchairs, two mismatched wooden desks placed opposite each other, a long, long half-empty bookshelf. At one of the desks, there was even what looked like a sparse black swivel chair from a Muggle office, which clashed terribly with the rest of the decor but looked significantly more worn and well-used compared to its wooden companions. And the walls were, alarmingly, carpeted with the same plush burgundy material as the floor.

Yet despite all that, the place seemed perfectly organized, and fit for study. There was a clear path to each of the chairs, and the more Peter stood and stared, the more method there seemed to be in all the madness.

_(See, when the desks are together, you can spread your papers out better, plus then you can have conferences with students… When you’re on the couch, you can summon books without hitting anything else… The green-grey armchair has a great view of the lake…)_

He wasn’t here to admire Egg’s decorating skills, though. He needed his help.

“Professor?” Peter said, walking a little further into the room and looking around. “Professor Egg? Are you here?”

“Yes.”

The voice came from a door Peter hadn’t noticed, over his shoulder to the right. It was ajar, and there was a short hall beyond, which turned to the left. Egg was calling to him from whatever room was within, but his voice sounded strange. Like it was coming from the other end of the castle.

“Professor, it’s Peter Pettigrew,” he said, slowly walking down the hall. “Is it alright if I come in?”

“Can’t hurt.”

_(Okay…)_

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Peter took his wand out as he came up on the edge of the corner. For an instant, he hesitated. Then he came around the bend, looking in at Professor Egg’s private quarters.

The hexagonal chamber beyond had been designed as Egg’s bedroom, he realized with embarrassment; through half-open doors on the other side, he could see what looked like a small kitchenette and a toilet. To the left, there was another bookshelf, this one completely empty, and an equally bare armoire, one door swinging open. On his right, Peter could see the foot of a four-poster bed, with drapes that matched the burgundy carpet. And in the very center of the room, sitting on a large trunk and staring vacantly in the direction of that bed, was Professor Egg.

He’d looked better.

Peter’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was dressed in Muggle clothes for some reason — but it wasn’t the navy polo shirt and wide-ankled white pants that had Peter frozen, half-in and half-out of the room. It was the man’s _hair_.

In all the months since Mordicus Egg had begun teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, he’d been immaculately poised at all times, with the crowning affectation his perfectly parted hair, secured tightly in back with a leather cord so it never slipped.

The man sitting in front of Peter had the same hair as Mordicus Egg, but it was a tangled-up, matted, shaggy mess. Most of it was hanging in front of his face, strands moving forward and back as he took deep, slow breaths. HIs beard even seemed a little different — wider, not tapering to the point it usually did.

And as he stared, jaw half-open, Peter saw other little things too. The polo was half-untucked. Egg was only wearing one shoe. And between him and the bed, there was a little pile of paper scraps.

Maybe that was what he was really staring at.

“Sorry I missed the End-of-Term Feast,” Egg said, suddenly. He never looked over at Peter.

_(He looks like he doesn’t even know I’m here. Or who I am.)_

“I was going to come,” Egg kept saying. “I was going to celebrate making it through the whole year, and quitting on my terms, not that bloody madman’s. I thought Dumbledore was coming in to offer me a toast of victory before I left.”

Honestly, Peter hadn’t even noticed that Egg had been absent from the feast. He’d been too excited about the party he had planned upstairs, in the Cavern. That felt like a million years ago.

“What happened?” Peter asked, dreading the answer.

“There was another attack last night,” Egg said. “Not a big one. A real private affair. A couple of young Death Eaters, out on the town drinking. They were stumbling through London, pulling tarot cards — street by street, house by house — until their favorite card came out of the deck. Death. Could have been worse, though. They only got one family before they fled the scene.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

Peter’s mind went blank. He knew, at minimum, an “I’m sorry” was required, but he couldn’t quite make the words come out of his mouth.

“It’s almost funny,” Egg said, his voice getting a little quieter. “They assumed they’d find some poor Muggle family that they could kidnap, torture, and kill. One of the ones that died had a map on her, with half the wizards’ homes in London scratched out, just to be safe. But of course, the house isn’t under my name. Or my parents’ names. They were just coming in for a visit, waiting for me to come home tonight. It was always Rachel’s.”

It had never occurred to Peter to think about his professors’ families before. His professors’ wives.

“And she was no witch, of course. I met her when I was in the Muggle Liaison Office, going door to door. Her little sister Talia was a schoolmate of mine, and I volunteered to pop in and check out her family. Hadn’t seen Talia since graduation; thought it might be a nice surprise. It was a nice surprise, in fact, when Rachel answered the door. The nicest surprise of my life.”

“So she’s—”

“Dead?” Egg laughed, brittle and terrifying. “I could be so lucky. The witches came in the door all dark and scary, but my parents were there, so they knew what they were; they told her to run. And they dueled, five against two, tearing apart the house that we built together. The Aurors think my father died first, thinking Rachel was safe.

“Then she came back, of course. She wouldn’t be the woman I loved if she didn’t come back. Now she’s not the woman I loved anymore, all because she did.

“Rachel always teased her sister and me because we needed to go to school for seven years to learn a bunch of spells to defend ourselves, and it’d only taken their father a couple of months to teach her how to use a shotgun. She didn’t own one herself, not until the war started. And then how could I blame her for wanting a license? Talia and I had our wands. She had her shotgun.

“Dumbledore said she got one of them. My parents killed one between them, before they were killed too, and she managed to get close enough to tear the other to pieces. But of course, she only got one shot.”

_(I should not be hearing this. I should definitely not be hearing this.)_

“The Aurors think they tortured her right there in the house. They had the time for it. I soundproofed the whole flat this Christmas. We were thinking of kids, despite the war, despite everything. When they started doing magic in the house, we’d never have to worry about explosions and fanfare startling the other Muggles on the block. A waste.

“In the morning, she came stumbling out in the street, screaming nonsense about the booms and the bangs, covered in blood, limping on her thrice-broken, twice-healed legs. Healers say if she’s an ounce saner than that again, it’d be a miracle.”

Peter didn’t know what to say.

_(What do you say to a man who just lost his entire family? What do you say even when he’s not your professor, and you’re not 13?)_

“I lied to Dumbledore,” Egg said. “So he would leave. I said I was going to go right away, but I needed a minute. I had thrown Floo Powder in the fireplace and everything. I can’t believe he believed me. Maybe he knew I was lying. Did he lose a Rachel once, too?”

Peter had to leave, he realized. He’d come here hoping Mordicus Egg could put in a good word for his dad, but now Peter wasn’t even sure Mordicus Egg was really in there.

“I hear things about your father, Peter.”

The way Egg said his name, Peter almost screamed.

“Not here, in the castle. Naturally. Out in the real world. Used to hear his name come up pretty regularly, in my last line of work. He had a good scheme, using magic to smuggle Muggle goods in and out of the country. Only the way I hear it, he’s out of the business. Makes people wonder, Peter. Makes people wonder whether he’s just running the same scheme in the other direction.”

_(He’s mad. Mad as his wife.)_

“Professor Egg, I—”

It didn’t seem like his professor had even heard him. “If I was you, I would be careful, Peter. You can’t see tragedy coming when you love someone, no matter how much it’s staring you right in the face. You’re not careful, you might walk right into it without knowing.”

Okay, now it was really time to go.

“Professor, I—I’m sorry. I have curfew. The train. My friends.”

“Go then,” Egg said. He had still never moved to look at Peter. “Perhaps we shall both live to meet again.”

Perhaps, Peter thought, as he half-ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

_(But I hope to God not.)_


	9. Hold Me Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the instant the boys are discovered in the Cavern, James has a simple choice: Fight or flight.
> 
> He chooses flight.

The real shame about tonight, James thought, as he tried to ignore everything his friends were shouting and find his Invisibility Cloak at the bottom of his bag, is that it truly started out so well.

When Peter had suggested earlier this week that they nip out of the End-of-Term Feast a little early and come up here instead, James had initially dug his heels in. He loved hanging out with the boys, of course, but he was going to see them again practically right away. He wasn’t hopping the train to Remus’s house in Wiltshire like the others, sure, but after the weekend at home — his father had insisted on it, for his mother’s sake — they were sending him out west via Floo. The Lupins had gotten connected to the network for the occasion.

What tonight was going to be was his last chance to see the remaining Gryffindors until September. He was finally getting along halfway decent with Jack again, and Lily Evans and her girlfriends were great, of course. But when he’d said as much to Peter, the other boy just smiled.

“Don’t worry, James,” he’d said. “We’ll stay downstairs until we’re all ready to leave. And I’ll make sure that the party upstairs is worth it.”

So he’d agreed, packed his trunk early. Gone down to the feast and had a good time talking to everyone _except_ the other boys; they’d all silently agreed to do the same. As he looked back and forth along the table, he could hear Sirius and Nabin chatting about summer in London, Daisy Mandel showing Peter something she’d written on a piece of parchment, and Remus trying to beg off Trix Bellicose’s starry-eyed request to write him over the summer, while Lily and Mary just watched and giggled.

The whole hall seemed in high spirits. Hufflepuff had won the House Cup through sheer niceness alone, apparently — it certainly wasn’t on the Quidditch pitch; Slytherin had won enough points to effectively claim the Cup last month even before the Gryffindor team played Ravenclaw.

But there were no hard feelings about their victory. If anything, it was almost good that it wasn’t either Slytherin or Gryffindor. No fights had broken out that James knew of, but the ongoing war had made things terribly tense between the two houses.

He’d been watching the seventh-years from under his Invisibility Cloak a lot, as of late, and practically every one of the Slytherins was either joining the Death Eaters after graduation or already had Voldemort’s little tattoo on his arm. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were more divided, but the Gryffindors were as resolute as the Slytherins. Every one of them was on the side of the Ministry — except, oddly, for Fabian and Gideon Prewett, who he’d found arguing with Sarina Valera about something called the “Order of the Phoenix” — but they had pulled her into a side room and barred the door before he could hear more.

The night of the feast, though, there was no chatter of the world outside. Only light and laughter, seeming to bounce off the black and gold banners hanging over their heads. The only serious faces James could see were up at the staff table — McGonagall kept glancing over toward an empty chair near the end, where Professor Egg normally sat, and Dumbledore’s remarks at the beginning of dinner had been uncharacteristically dry.

But then the time came, and all of that flew out of James’s mind. He caught the eyes of the other three boys, and nodded at each. They said their goodbyes and got up, slipping out the side exit and trying not to draw attention to themselves. And with delighted laughter, they hurried up the flights of stairs that took them to the Cavern for one last night of revelry.

It had been truly, truly great.

For about twenty minutes.

“Maybe we can move one of the bookshelves in front of the entrance?”

James looked up as Peter spoke, surveying the room. Sirius, Remus and Peter were huddled together, frantically bickering amongst themselves. Across the way, he could see O’Brien through the hazy entrance to the Cavern, holding the other students back and casting some sort of counter-spell on the entrance. Probably trying to make sure Peter hadn’t booby-trapped it in some way.

It was the smart thing to do. But it was also going to give him enough time to get out of this. As long as he could find his…

There!

James pulled his bag close, reaching within and grabbing the edge of his Invisibility Cloak. He’d been wearing it right before dinner, eavesdropping in the library to find out if Lily had plans for the summer other than spending time with the grease stain, so it was right on top.

For a second, he considered shouting something out, trying to get the other three boys to come over and hide under the cloak. It was probably big enough to fit more than one, but he’d never tried. He should have, he belatedly realized. He should have told them ages ago.

But that wouldn’t work anyway. If O’Brien took down that wall and came in to find an empty room, he and the students behind him would scour every inch of the Cavern until they stumbled across them.

O’Brien had already seen Peter, though — would he take the fall, pretend to be the only one in here?

James looked over to ask that very question, but then he saw the wall flickering. O’Brien would be inside in an instant. There was no time left.

So he pulled the cloak over his head like a blanket and vanished.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

It wasn’t a moment too soon. Through the threads of his cloak, James could see Remus, Sirius, and Peter turning round and round, looking for him and calling out his name. With every shout, he felt more and more guilty. But there was no turning back now.

Helpless, arms wrapped tightly around his chest to keep the cloak from slipping, James watched silently as his friends bickered, disagreeing about the best course of action. O’Brien and the students came in partway through, watching them briefly as well before making their presence known. James slipped back step by step as they argued, getting far enough out of the way that no one would bump into him. By the time he had his back pressed to the far wall, his friends were slowly scooping up their belongings and shuffling out, while Sarina Valera and a Slytherin prefect James didn’t know vanished the Butterbeer and took Peter’s records and turntable out with them.

Once they were gone, James quickly scanned the room, adjusting the cloak so it was laying properly over his shoulders and only dragging on the floor a little. Peter hadn’t remembered to take the books he was keeping his parents’ letters in — the poor kid thought he needed to hide them for some reason, but he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought — so James grabbed them and put them in his bag. There were a couple of other things here and there too: some emergency candy, some comics of Sirius’s crushed in the folds of the sofa, a few records the prefects hadn’t seen.

He was surprised by how little there was to take. It seemed they hadn’t kept as much of their lives in here as they’d thought.

When he was sure there wasn’t anything left, James hurried out into the Charms corridor, heading toward the center of the castle. He couldn’t be sure, but if he had to guess, he figured Sarina would be bringing the others down to McGonagall’s office on the first floor. He was about 15 or 20 minutes behind them, but McGonagall was probably at the End-of-Term Feast still. So he might have just enough time to catch up with them.

Not that he knew why he was doing any of this. The smart thing to do was to show up somewhere else, have an alibi. McGonagall was no idiot. She would take one look at Sirius, Remus, and Peter, and the first question in her mind would be “Where’s James?” The last thing he needed to do was sneak into her office and invisibly spy on her punishing his friends for something he legitimately did too.

So, naturally, that’s just what he did.

“Explain yourselves,” McGonagall said, sitting down at her desk as Sarina left the room, slamming the door behind her.

The other boys looked back and forth at each other without saying anything, and James bit his lip.

“Out with it!” she barked. “Believe me, boys, I have plenty of ideas in my head about what you might have been up to in a secret chamber, with prohibited items, bordering on curfew. Perhaps I should send Sarina out looking for your friend Mr. Potter. I’m surprised not to see him sitting here with you.”

Sirius looked like he was about to say something, but Peter spoke before him. A first.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” he said. “We’ll tell you about everything we’ve been doing in the Cavern.”

Remus and Sirius’s attention was immediately on Peter. They clearly hadn’t expected him to break so quickly. Neither had James, to be honest.

“I found it on accident,” Peter said, speaking slowly at first. “My first week here at Hogwarts. I was coming out of Charms behind everyone, and I accidentally dropped some stuff out of my bag. One of my inkwells broke on the ground, but when I bent down to scoop up the glass, I saw there was a bit of the wall where there wasn’t any ink. When I put my hand out to touch it…”

“You found the chamber,” McGonagall finished. James couldn’t read her expression. He couldn’t imagine that boded well. “Obviously you didn’t mention the room to Professor O’Brien, or any of the other faculty. When did your friends learn about it?”

So Peter told the rest of the story, Remus and Sirius reluctantly jumping in periodically. To James’s great relief, none of them made a big deal out of his knowing about the Cavern. McGonagall did force them to disclose it as a fact, but neither Peter nor the others ever suggested he was there out of hours, or any of the times when there was Butterbeer involved. He suspected this was a great source of frustration for their head of house.

James had known the moment he went for the Invisibility Cloak that the others were going to get in trouble and he wasn’t. That was _why_ he’d gone for the cloak.

But he hadn’t expected to feel as guilty as he did when McGonagall told them that Gryffindor House would start the next fall term 100 points behind everyone else. True, if he’d been there, they’d have lost a total of 120. But it was hard to feel good about saving a mere 20 points when he was looking at the sad faces of his friends.

McGonagall dismissed Sirius and Remus shortly after that. From his vantage point, James watched the two boys rush out of the room, Remus only pausing a moment to supportively put a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

They closed the door behind them, but James took the moment of commotion as an opportunity to move closer to the exit. He’d been wearing this cloak long enough to know that you had to be ready by the door if you wanted to make it out behind someone. He’d been trapped in the staffroom in September, and in the Ravenclaw common room last January, listening to a bunch of second-year girls argue about the best way to organize their personal book collections. He might make the same mistake twice, but by the third time he learned his lesson.

“Pettigrew, perhaps you would like some tea?”

As McGonagall got up to get her kettle, James studied Peter. He’d never truly thought about how the boy had discovered the Cavern, he realized, nor considered where the record player had come from. The more he thought about it, though, the more odd it was that the first-year would have a Muggle object that was enchanted to such a complex degree. From the look on Peter’s face, there was a story behind it, and it would not be a good one, either for him or for whomever gave it to him.

So James listened intently as Professor McGonagall and Peter talked, the former slowly worming the truth out of the second-year. All James knew about Peter’s parents was that they were separated, and that he lived with his dad during the summer. His dad was always the one owling records to Peter, though, so he knew that he wasn’t lying to McGonagall about that. But he didn’t know if any of the rest of it was true.

It was disconcerting, realizing how little he knew about Peter’s life outside the castle walls.

“You can’t do that!” Peter shouted, as McGonagall told him she was going to have to keep the turntable. For a minute, as they bickered, James thought he might try and hex their Transfiguration professor.

“Pettigrew,” McGonagall said, finally. “I suggest. You return. To Gryffindor Tower. Go now, before curfew begins and I need to escort you myself. As I would be very unhappy to do.”

Peter sat there for another moment, fuming. Then he pushed back his chair angrily and stood up, grabbing his bag in the same motion. He glared at McGonagall — harder and more fiercely than James would have _dared_ — and then spun on his heel and headed for the door.

Part of James wanted to stay and see what McGonagall did next, but his instincts took over instead, and he followed Peter back toward the door.

Peter shoved the door open forcefully, causing it to bang off of the stone wall on the other side and swing back toward James’s face. Not having any time to draw his wand — nor the bravery to even whisper a spell with McGonagall still in the room — James stuck his foot out to catch the door before it fully closed, barely choking back the scream of pain in the back of his throat as the heavy wooden door crushed his foot.

McGonagall was in the back room again, he saw, so after a few moments he gingerly pushed the door open a little bit more. Peter was gone, nowhere to be seen, though James could hear running footsteps in the distance. Not going toward Gryffindor Tower, strangely enough — but that was all well and good. The last thing he wanted was to run into any of the boys right now.

All the way up to the seventh floor, James wracked his brain, trying to think of a decent excuse for what had happened to him in the Cavern — something that would keep the others from turning their wands on him and dangling him out the window. By the time he got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak so she could see him approach, he only had five bad options:

  1. “I fell through a hole in the Cavern floor that we never noticed or discovered.” (yeah, right)
  2. “Nearly Headless Nick kidnapped me!” (can ghosts even make you invisible?)
  3. “Didn’t I tell you I secretly learned to Apparate?” (sure, and then what happens when they ask you to prove it?)
  4. “I’ve been in the library the whole time… Maybe you just hallucinated me being there?” (that’s just silly)
  5. “My father sent me an Invisibility Cloak last Christmas, and I’ve been using it to sneak around the castle in secret for the last year and a half without anyone knowing, not even you, my three best friends.” (0% chance of success, 100% chance of yelling)



Okay, maybe number 4 was his best option.

“Thunderbird,” he said to the dozing portrait, more boldly than he actually felt. For all he knew, Sirius and Remus were waiting for him on the other side of the door.

But after the Fat Lady yawned and lazily swung open, James could see the common room was mostly empty. There were a couple students from each year in groups around the room, but the only second-years he saw were Jack, Nabin and Beatrix, who were all laughing about something in that week’s _Witch Weekly_.

“Hey Potter,” Nabin said as he came over. “Where’ve you been? You and the rest of the guys ducked out pretty fast after the feast.”

“Um, just around,” James said feebly.

“Merlin’s beard,” Trix said, rolling her eyes. “Are you mooning after Lily again? She’s off somewhere with Severus, as usual. You should take a hint.”

“I wasn’t looking for Lily,” James said, with a touch of grumpiness. “Are Remus and Sirius upstairs then?”

The three of them all looked at each other, as if deciding what to say. James wondered if the boys had already said something about their punishment. But he couldn’t imagine they would _advertise_ losing 100 points in one shot.

Nabin finally spoke up. “They just left, actually.” Oddly, Jack looked away as his friend spoke, like he couldn’t meet James’s gaze. “They were upstairs for a little while, being secretive, and then rushed down the steps and out into the castle. We sort of figured they were looking for you, actually.”

“Oh,” James said, trying to make his face look innocent. “Well, I’ve got a lot of packing to do anyway, so why don’t I just go up there and wait for them? Otherwise we’ll probably just end up running around in circles.”

“Sure,” Nabin said. “We’ll, uh, tell them you’re up there? If they come back.”

“Thanks,” James said with a half-smile, before heading up the dormitory steps.

In truth, he hoped the boys wouldn’t be back for a while. It would give him time to think of a better excuse — and stuff the Invisibility Cloak all the way at the bottom of his trunk. That was what he should do first, come to think of it. Stuff it in his trunk, layer his textbooks on top, and then maybe hop in the shower quick. That way, even if the boys showed up, he’d have a little extra time to keep brainstorming.

As he pushed the door to the common room open, his mind floated back to his first instinct. Maybe the idea of a secret exit from the Cavern wasn’t the worst idea. McGonagall had said the place was potentially dangerous and unpredictable. And it’s not like they’d be able to go back down there and—

“About bloody time you showed up.”

James stopped cold. Sirius and Remus were there, springing off the ends of their beds, and coming toward him quickly. Wands drawn.

Instinct spun James around, sent him straight back toward the door.

“ _Colloportus!”_

Even hearing Remus’s spell, James still tried to tug the door open for a second. Then he spun around, drawing his own wand, and—

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

James felt his wand slip right through his fingers, floating across the dorm room and into Sirius’s outstretched hand.

“All right,” he said, slipping James’s wand into a pocket and leaving his own pointed in his direction. “Now we’re going to have a chat.”

“What the hell are you two doing up here?” James spluttered. “Nabin just told me—”

“Yeah, we owe him a thank you,” Remus said, his voice like ice. “Honestly, James, would you have come bounding up here if you didn’t believe neither of us would be in the room?”

Remus made a good point.

“Now, sit down,” Sirius said, pointing to a chair they’d pulled to the center of the room. “We’re all going to wait until Peter gets back here. Then we’re going to have a little chat.”

James took the opportunity to put his foot right into his mouth. “But Peter wasn’t heading back here after he left McGonagall’s office.”

As soon as he saw the looks of surprise on Sirius and Remus’s faces, he realized his mistake.

“How do you know that?” Remus said, after a moment. “McGonagall sent us back first. We thought he was still down there, but apparently you don’t.”

James sighed. The game was up now. “I know because…”

He started to open his schoolbag, but Sirius took a step forward, wand outstretched.

“Don’t you dare,” Sirius said. James could see his wand hand twitching slightly, but he never lowered it. “Give Remus your bag and sit down, you bloody Kneazle. Before I make you sit down.”

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius. You think I have, what, _another wand_ in here? How paranoid are you?”

“You disappeared into thin air today,” Sirius said. “Apparently, we don’t know what you’re capable of. And if I’ve learned one thing in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, it’s better to be embarrassed by being over-prepared than embarrassed by being under-prepared.”

His tone didn’t encourage argument. So James slowly pulled the strap of the bag over his head, passed it to Remus, and sat down on the chair.

“It should be right on top,” he said, as Remus started rummaging through the bag. Sirius didn’t take his eyes off of him, not even when Remus pulled the cloak out in one fluid motion.

“What the heck is this?” Remus asked, running his fingers along it. “It feels so strange. Like thick water.”

“Stars above.” Sirius was so shocked, he lowered his wand arm. “It’s a cloak, Remus. Try it on, and you’ll see what it does.”

Remus looked back, puzzled, but threw the cloak behind his back with a flourish, wrapping it around his vanishing body. When his floating head looked down to see the rest of himself missing, he screamed so loud James thought Jack or Nabin might come running up to see which of them was being murdered. He popped back into visibility a moment later, as he threw the cloak away and fell back onto his bed.

“Careful with that!” James and Sirius said at the same time. Sirius blushed bright red as soon as he realized their parallel warning, and his wand was suddenly pointed at James again.

“How long,” he growled. “How long have you had an Invisibility Cloak you didn’t tell us about, James?”

“Last Christmas,” he said right away. He didn’t dare lie, not at this point. “It’s a family heirloom. My dad gave it to me. Said it had to stay a secret.”

“Well,” Sirius said, “congratulations, I suppose. I thought you were bad at keeping secrets, James, but I guess that only applies to the little stuff. Not your big family heirlooms.”

“I don’t think someone hailing from the ‘Noble and Ancient House of Black’ should be irritated by anyone having a family heirloom, Sirius.”

“I’m sorry, back up.” Remus was crouched down, gingerly examining the cloak. “You got this — what did you call it? Invisibility Cloak? — for Christmas this year? Or our first year?”

“Our first year,” James said. “So it wasn’t like I could tell you right away anyway. We were barely friends.”

“We were new friends,” Sirius countered. “Not barely friends.”

“Well, it’s not like we were all perfectly honest with each other right from the start,” James said. “After all, it’s only a few months back that Remus told us—”

James had assumed Sirius was the angrier of the two, but the look he got from Remus made him question that assumption.

“Don’t you dare,” Remus said, crossing to him in two quick steps and glaring down at him. “Don’t you _dare_ compare my secret to yours. I have to keep my condition a secret because I would be thrown out of Hogwarts if people knew. You didn’t tell us about this cloak because you’re _selfish_ , James. Because you wanted to keep this little ace up your sleeve, all to yourself.”

“I didn’t—”

Remus cut him off. “Did it _ever_ occur to you to tell us? Sometime after last Christmas, I mean. Maybe after we got back to school this year? Or when I told you my secret, and we all agreed that we were going to be honest from each other from now on, because that was a horrible thing to have to keep lying to you about?”

“That’s not the same thing,” James said. “And it’s not like I was lying to you. You just…didn’t know about it.”

“What else didn’t we know?” Remus said. “Jesus, James, did I even _have_ to tell you I was a—”

He stopped himself, looking sideways at the door.

James squeezed into the opening in the conversation. “Of course you did. I had no idea, Remus. It didn’t even occur to me that you weren’t going to Mungo’s, so I didn’t think to start following you.”

“Bet you would have, though,” Sirius said. “You’ve spent a lot of time to yourself this year, James. For all we know, you’ve been stalking us through the castle, trying to find out what we get up to when you’re not around.”

“That’s a lie!” James said. “Okay, yes, I’ve followed some people around. And I followed you three back to McGonagall’s office tonight. But that was the only time it’s ever happened. You’re my friends. I would never betray your trust like that.”

“Oh, that’s good to know,” Remus said. “You’d never betray our trust like _that_. You’d do it a different way, like keeping a secret Invisibility Cloak in your bag for the last year and a half.”

“Or using it to ditch your supposed friends the minute trouble shows up.”

“Or turning out to be a self-centered prat who never thought about the possibility of _sharing_ his good fortune with his friends.”

“You realize tonight is completely your fault, right?” Sirius said. “We got caught in the Cavern because someone saw Peter walk out into the hallway. YOU HAVE AN INVISIBILITY CLOAK.”

James didn’t know what to say. His two best friends in the world had just spent the last 10 minutes yelling at him, and he was starting to realize that they had every right to do so.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, looking down at the ground. “It was just… It was mine. My cloak. And you’re right that I probably should have told you, and if I’d given Peter the cloak just to be safe we would be in the Cavern right now, laughing about our close call. But I didn’t have to tell you. It was my secret to keep and my secret to share.”

“Oh, piss off,” Sirius spat back. “I ought to jinx your knickers into your eyebrows.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Remus said, pushing Sirius’s wand arm down and away from James. “James: Consider your invitation to visit me this summer revoked. You don’t want to spend detention with us? We don’t want to spend our vacation with you.”

James leapt out of his chair before he knew what he was doing, staring Remus dead in the eyes. “Are you mad? I’ve been telling my parents for _weeks_ that I’m going to be out west with you lot. And now I’m just not allowed to come with?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “You’re not allowed. It’s that bloody simple.”

“You two are being ridiculous,” James said. “Look, I’m sorry that I used my Invisibility Cloak so I didn’t get a detention, but—”

“It’s not about the Invisibility Cloak!” Remus shouted, shoving James back. He tripped over the chair and nearly ended up sprawled on the ground, but Remus just kept going, with Sirius standing behind him. “It’s about you being a lousy friend and a real arse and not even being sorry about it.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You’re sorry we got caught,” Remus said. “You’re sorry we’re cross with you. You’re not sorry for keeping the cloak a secret, and you’re not sorry for lying to us. You’d do it again in a heartbeat. Wouldn’t you?”

The smart answer was no. But James was done lying to his friends tonight.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I would.”

A sudden banging from the door startled all three, and Peter’s voice came through half-muffled. “Guys? Are you up here? Jack and Nabin said you found James.”

“Sure did,” Sirius said with disgust, taking out James’s wand and chucking it underhand into the corner. “But I think now it’s our turn to disappear on you, mate.”

James found himself speechless as Sirius walked past, Remus following for a moment. As he watched, they unlocked the door, and pushed a stammering, flustered Peter back into the hallway as he tried to rush in.

Before they finished going, though, Remus stopped and looked back at James, something weighing on his mind.

“I don’t know how long we’re going to be downstairs,” he said finally, eyes narrowed in anger, “but I think you might want to tuck yourself into bed with that Invisibility Cloak tonight. Because I don’t want to see you again anytime soon.”

His wand was in one corner of the room, and his Invisibility Cloak was in the other, but somehow James still could feel himself disappearing bit by bit.


	10. You Really Gotta Hold On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his big, potentially-friendship-ending fight with Remus and Sirius, James has to find his own seat on the train home, and ends up with some unlikely traveling companions: the Prewett twins.

“I still can’t believe it,” Peter said, as they all sat down on the train. “All this time, James has had an Invisibility Cloak? And he just didn’t tell us about it?”

Sirius still couldn’t really believe it either. He’d been up all night, tossing and turning about it. He expected the people in his life who hated him to lie to his face. Not his friends.

“I’ve never seen or heard of one before,” Remus said, anxiously tapping his foot in his seat. “But there’s no question that’s what it was. And Sirius recognized it on sight.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “My mum’s side of the family used to have one, though it was clearly way, way older than James’s. My uncle Cygnus used to put it on and sneak around pulling pranks on my mum and uncle Alphard. But by the time I came around, it was so threadbare you could see halfway through it. I think my cousins Bellatrix and Andromeda tore it to pieces fighting over it a few years back.”

“My dad has always talked about getting one,” Peter said, “but it’s not like they last forever. And they’re terribly dear.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Remus said. “It’s horrible, the idea that people can just be going around secretly spying on you. I’m surprised he was allowed to bring it into Hogwarts.”

“I mean, he probably isn’t,” Sirius replied. “But it’s not like any of our bags are searched every time we go in and out of the castle either.”

“That might not be the case much longer,” Remus said. “Did you hear what Mary MacDonald was saying at breakfast? There was some columnist in the _Prophet_ who was arguing that with the trade in illegal amulets and artefacts, the Ministry needs to crack down on—”

“Hey.”

Sirius and the boys looked back up at the entrance to the compartment. Standing there, hair in his eyes, looking like he’d shrunk two or three inches, was James.

“I’m sure you all are still upset with me,” he started, “but I was wondering…”

“Why wonder?” Remus snapped. “I’ll be straight with you, James. Find your own compartment. And don’t try and pull your bloody Cloak out of your trunk and sneak in here. I’ve been meaning to try out a Colour-Changing Jinx on somebody, and I think you’d look fabulous with neon green skin.”

“Remus—”

Remus didn’t wait to hear whatever James was saying. He sprang to his feet, crossed the distance between his seat and the door, and slammed it shut right in James’s face.

The silence in the compartment was starting to make Sirius’s stomach twist and turn again. If this kept up when the train started moving, he might be sick all over his oxfords.

“Yikes,” Peter said, after they were all sure James had moved further down the train. “Did you have to be so mean to him?”

“Yes,” Remus said simply, crossing his arms sullenly.

Part of the reason Sirius was feeling so unwell, he realized, is because they hadn’t gone much further than telling Peter what had happened and ignoring James. When Remus had gone mental right before the holidays, he and James had spent the entire Christmas holiday owling back and forth. And after Remus had told them the real reason he was leaving the castle every month, he and the others had deliberately talked to Remus about it when they were alone, so that it wasn’t just this unspoken thing between them.

But so far, nothing of the sort was happening between the three of them. Sirius had tried to get Remus to talk about it in the bathroom earlier this morning, but Remus had just chucked off his dressing gown and gone into the shower without saying anything, and it wasn’t like Sirius was going to just hop in there with him.

Peter hadn’t been much better. The idea of James being secretly gallivanting around the castle had seemed to make him even more flighty and easily distracted than normal. Sirius’d had to actually tell him to stop staring vacantly out at the lake and get in the carriage down to the train station.

And, of course, there was no talking to James. He was angry with James. He needed to keep being angry with James until they were in agreement on what they were going to do about James.

“I think we need to get on the same page about this,” Sirius said slowly. “We can’t just keep closing train compartment doors in his face for the rest of our lives. Either we have to decide that this is too big a thing to forget, and stop being friends with James, or we have to talk about what he can do to make things right.”

“No, we don’t,” Remus said, with half the level of irritation he’d spent on James. “Frankly, I don’t want to say a word about James this whole time we’re all together with my parents. Maybe even all summer. Does that sound all right to you, Sirius?”

Sirius bit back a hundred sharp responses, feeling their edges scrape against the back of his throat. “Sure,” he finally said, as the train started to move. “I’ll just catch up on my magazines, shall I?”

“Brilliant idea,” Remus said, pulling off his robes and bundling them up into a makeshift pillow. “I’m going to close my eyes for a little while. Peter, nudge me when the trolley witch comes by.”

Sirius had thought the train ride back to Hogwarts in January, when they all had still been upset with Remus, had been intolerable. This was so much worse.

* * *

So this is what it’s going to be like from now on, James thought to himself as he found an empty compartment. The three of them, and me on the outside.

That was fine. He could make new friends. He and Jack were on pretty good terms again. Everyone on the Quidditch team seemed to like him, sort of. He didn’t need Remus or Peter or Sirius.

But it made his blood boil that he had to lose all his friends just because —

“Can we join you, Potter?”

James looked up to see Fabian and Gideon Prewett standing in the entryway to the compartment, looking down on him with literally mirrored expressions. More out of shock than anything, he nodded, and Gideon slipped in while Fabian wordlessly levitated their trunks into the overhead.

“Thanks,” Gideon said, as he sat down opposite James. “We’re practically the only seventh-years aboard, I think.”

“Most everyone else is down at Hogsmeade celebrating graduation,” Fabian explained for James’s benefit as he entered and shut the compartment door. “We’re all grown-ups, now; can’t enjoy simple kid things like taking the Hogwarts Express home one last time. Better to get a little drunk than think about—”

“We decided we weren’t going to talk about that,” Gideon interjected.

“Right, right, right.” Fabian put his hands up in mock surrender. “Nostalgic train ride home. Think about simpler times. No talk of the big bad outside world.”

“Thank you.” The subject — whatever it was — had made Gideon look positively ill.

“Well,” James said slowly, “good to see you, I suppose.”

He couldn’t fathom what the two of them were doing here. He knew Gideon as his Quidditch Captain, of course, and Fabian had basically been Gryffindor’s most prominent prefect since James’s first day, but they weren’t _friends_. He and the 18-year-olds were barely acquaintances.

Yet here the three of them were, all hanging out in his train compartment like there was nothing extremely weird about that.

“We were surprised to see you all by yourself,” Gideon said. He was never one to avoid a subject. “Tiff with your friends?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” James said, surprising himself with his rudeness. “What are your plans, now that you’re all graduated and everything?

“We don’t want to talk about it,” Fabian said, with a rueful grin. “Seems we’re going to have to find better conversation topics.

James would have rather just sat there quietly, to be honest, but clearly that was not in the cards.

“You know, James,” Gideon said after a few moments, “we were actually sitting alone on the way back from Hogwarts our second year too.”

“Well not _alone_ alone.”

“Alone together.”

“Yes.”

“Our sister had just graduated, you see,” Gideon continued. “The three of us were all pretty close, though we always promised not to embarrass her at school by clinging onto her heels as much as we would have back home.”

“Plus she had just started dating Arthur Weasley,” Fabian said with a grimace. “So they were _always_ snogging.”

“But she wasn’t as nostalgic as the two of us,” Gideon said, “so she went down to Hogsmeade with her friends and sent us back off to London to meet our parents alone. So there we were, riding the Hogwarts Express all by ourselves for the very first time.”

“You may not have guessed this from our current positions of fame and esteem,” Fabian cut in sarcastically, “but we were not always as popular and beloved as we are today.”

“Gryffindor’s mostly girls, in our year, and the other boys all knew each other already, so we spent our first two years exploring the castle together and occasionally tagging along at Molly’s heels.”

“She was always nice about that. Arthur too, except for the snogging.”

“So it was a big shock when all of a sudden Sloan Steele was there with a few of his friends.”

This name meant absolutely nothing to James, and it must have been clear on his face, because the twins instantly shifted tacks to describe him.

“Okay,” Fabian said, “Sloan was like…”

“You know how everyone gets really excited when the team walks out on the pitch?” Gideon interrupted.

“Yeah?” James said, unsure where this was going.

“But then they get _really_ excited when I come out at the end?”

From his spot on the bench all season, James had observed exactly this moment numerous times. “Yes,” he said frostily.

“Sloan was like me that way,” Gideon continued, ignoring James’s tone. “He was in Gryffindor, and a prefect, like Fabian, and Head Boy our last year. But he was the center of attention, even before all that. Molly was dating him over the summer the year before we started at Hogwarts and dumped him during the Halloween feast and it was SO embarrassing for us.”

“The point is,” Fabian said, clearly trying to get Gideon back on track, “there we were, sitting on the train on our way home, all by ourselves.”

“Fabian was even crying.”

“I. Was. Not.”

“So Sloan walks past us while he’s following his friends down to the back of the train, and he looks in and sees us looking sad and me trying to get Fabian to stop crying.”

“If _anyone_ was crying—”

“Long story short,” Gideon continued, “we’re about 15 minutes away from the castle when all of a sudden there’s a knock at our compartment window. We look up, and there’s Sloan Steele, leaning against the doorway all impressive like he’s Elizabeth the bloody Second.”

“Who?” James asked.

Gideon groaned and put his head in his hands, while Fabian just started laughing. “Mate.”

“The woman on the Muggle money, Potter.”

“Muggles put women on their money? Why?”

“That’s not the point,” Gideon said. “The point is that Sloan Steele had taken one look at us sitting alone in our compartment and decided that he needed to use his tremendous level of social cache to make us a little less sad, lonely and friendless.”

“So he was there, with three or four friends of his, mostly fifth- and sixth-years,” Fabian added, “And by the time we stopped in London, we were officially Sloan Steele-approved.”

“Halfway to the level of maximum coolness we’re at today.”

“So, what,” James said, “you’re going to just hang out with me until I’m popular?”

Fabian laughed, sharp and short. “You don’t want to be popular, Potter.”

“I mean, to be fair, you desperately, desperately do.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point, it’s extremely obvious.”

“But that’s clearly not your priority at the moment.

“Right now, you’re sitting here alone, and your friends are sitting a whole train car further up,” Fabian said. “So correct us if we’re wrong, but it seems to us that the big priority for you is to get your friends back. So I’m guessing you will want a piece of advice from us in how to do that.”

“No, I do not.” James angrily crossed his arms. He’d seen Snivellus sitting with Lily at the front of the train. He wondered if it would be worth having to listen to him kiss up to Evans all afternoon to get out of this conversation.

There was a long pause as Fabian and Gideon looked over at each other, seeming to have a telepathic debate about who should speak next. It seemed as though Fabian won, or lost, because Gideon settled back in his seat and Fabian kept talking.

“James, I’m a prefect — well, _was_ a prefect. You must know that Sarina told me what happened yesterday, to your friends. And to you, I suspect, even if you didn’t get caught and dragged down to McGonagall’s office with them.

James knew that Fabian couldn’t do anything to him, even if he wanted to. Term was over, house points were counted, Fabian was a prefect no longer. But instinct gripped him, and he tensed up immediately.

“Frankly, I’m impressed,” Gideon said. “Fabian and I have been all over the castle, and not only had we no idea there was a secret chamber in the Charms corridor, we never would have guessed that there would be one. O’Brien should be sacked for missing that, in my opinion.”

“Gideon—” Fabian turned to face at his brother, giving him some look James couldn’t see. “That isn’t really the point I’m trying to make here.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Sarina doesn’t know all the details, of course,” Fabian continued. “But she knows that the other prefect who was with her, Lillian Grey — she never found you, out in the castle. Nor did any of the other prefects who were on duty that night.”

“Well, that’s because I wasn’t there,” James lied quickly. “I was back in the common room, packing.”

“Sure,” Fabian said, smiling gently. “Except for the fact that you and your friends are generally inseparable. I find it hard to believe that your last night of term — a night when your friends were all celebrating in your shared secret hideout — you decided to do a better job fitting your clothes into your trunk.”

“Well…”

Fabian kept talking right over him. “So. You’re celebrating with your friends. Suddenly, Mellan O’Brien and his entire seventh-year NEWT class has discovered your hideaway, and all your friends get caught — but somehow you manage to get away and they don’t. So they get in trouble and you don’t.”

“And you think there’s nothing wrong with that,” Gideon said, “and they don’t agree.”

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” James said softly. “But yeah, I guess so.”

“Well then,” Gideon said. “I think it’s time for some tough love, Potter.”

And suddenly he was all Quidditch Captain, leaning forward to put his hands on his knees and stare James dead in the eyes.

“You wanna know why I didn’t pick you for the main roster and left you as our reserve all season?”

“Yes,” James breathed, all thoughts of Sirius, Remus or Peter forgotten. His brain was racing with excitement, a million miles and hour, faster than the Hogwarts Express and in eight more directions.

“You’re gonna be a great Chaser one day,” Gideon said. “I knew that right from the second you hopped on a broomstick. But Chaser isn’t a solo position, James. There’s three of them, a team within a team, and a group of Chasers is no good if their members are anything but perfectly in sync.

“Right now, you think you can fly solo, James. I’ve seen it on the pitch, and we’re seeing it now in this compartment. And you’re good at flying solo. But that won’t ever make you a good Chaser. Or a good friend.”

“That’s not fair!” James shouted. “It’s not my fault I’m all alone in here. I was just…”

“True or false,” Fabian said. “When your friends got caught in the Charms corridor, you could have prevented them from all getting points docked?”

“Well, not all of them—”

“But some of them. The ones that Sarina didn’t see poking their head out the window like an addled Niffler.”

“Sure, I guess.” Sirius had been right, last night. Even if he had kept the Invisibility Cloak a secret all the way up until the moment Peter stepped out into the Charms corridor, he still could have quickly told the other two to get under the cloak with him. And he probably should have told them about it long before.

“But you didn’t do that,” Fabian said. “You chose to save yourself instead of helping your friends. No wonder they’re upset with you.”

“They’re not mad at me because I didn’t get caught,” James said. “They’re mad at me because…well…”

“Look, you don’t have to explain it to us,” Gideon said, putting his hands up. “Believe me, we would _love_ to know your trick. But it’s not going to really do us much good at this point, now that our days of running around the castle are over.”

“But you have several years of school left; you can’t go telling people all your secrets.”

“If we’d done that, we’d have never gotten away with as many pranks as we both did over the last seven years.”

This conversation had gone from strange to stranger.

“Wait, what?” James said. “What pranks could you possibly have been a part of? Fabian, you were a bloody prefect! And the only thing I ever even thought might be you, Gideon, was when Percival Cain wound up hanging by his ankles from the Owlery rafters all night after you lost to Slytherin my first year.”

“That was me, actually,” Fabian said, smiling sheepishly.

James just about fell out of his seat.

“Yeah, there was _no way_ anyone on the Quidditch team could have successfully done that,” Gideon said, smirking. “Most of us were actually down in Slughorn’s office when it happened, so we had great alibis, and the rest of the team made sure to get some detentions on purpose.”

“Besides, I owed him from a few weeks back,” Fabian said. “He covered my prefect duties for the night so I could cram for a Potions exam.”

“It is really amazing how dumb the Hufflepuff prefects are,” Gideon added.

James’s jaw dropped. “Merlin’s bloody ghost. You traded _places_?!”

“We used to do it much more often,” Gideon said. “Back when we were a little younger, and looked even more like each other.”

“That was practically how I got to be a prefect,” Fabian said. “After our first few brushes with danger, we decided it would be better for our reputations if just one of us got known as the troublemaker. We flipped a coin—”

“—I lost—”

“And then we made sure whenever we could that ‘Gideon’ was the only one who got caught out of bounds.”

There was nothing to say. James slowly just started to clap his hands. Fabian tried and failed to keep a smile off his face, while Gideon stood and made a series of overly dramatic bows.

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” he said. “It feels good to finally get some recognition for our bravery.”

“Oh sit down,” Fabian said. “Your head gets any more swollen, no one’s ever going to think we look alike again.”

“You have to tell me everything,” James said quickly. “Please.”

“No, no,” Gideon said, sitting back down. “We decided to stay on message before we came down here. No tales of misadventure. Just good advice for a fellow Gryffindor who looked as pathetic as we did five years ago.”

“Well,” Fabian said. “Not _just_ good advice.”

“Alright, you lads done tossing each other off?”

The voice came from the hall, and James looked up to see half the Gryffindor Quidditch team and a few other boys he didn’t know.

“Oh, bite me, Kris,” Gideon said, sliding down to sit beside the window.

“I’ll leave that to your girlfriend,” he replied.

And then, to James’s surprise, Kristopher Teak, the Beater who had said all of three words to him since he made the Quidditch team, sat down next to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“So, Potter,” he said. “Gideon tells me you’re going to be good enough to make it on my team for real next season. Is he just blowing smoke up my arse, or you actually going to have what it takes?”

“Um…”

As James feebly tried to restart his brain, the group of guys in the hall crammed their way into the compartment, one of them even conjuring a new bench below the window so they had more room.

“We told you,” Fabian said as he moved to sit on James’s other side. “Sloan Steele didn’t come down to hang out with us all by himself. How could we do any different?”

* * *

Sirius almost made it all the way to King’s Cross before ruining everything.

He made it through the awkward silences, two magazines, Peter and Remus’s seemingly endless game of Gobstones, a round of sweets from the trolley witch, and even werewolf snores.

And then, fifteen minutes out of London…

“Okay, mates, we’re almost to King’s Cross,” Remus said, nudging Peter with his elbow to wake him up. “Time to talk Lupin family rules and regulations.”

“Ugh, there’s rules?” Peter said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “I thought we were visiting your parents, not Professor McGonagall.”

Remus’s face flushed slightly, and he backpedaled. “Well, um, not rules, per se. Just...information. About what the plans are for the next two weeks.”

“Well, we’re just going to hang out, right?” Sirius said, putting down his magazine. “Is there a lot to do in Wiltshire, anyway?”

“That’s what we’ll have to figure out,” Remus said. “I haven’t honestly been around the area too much, since my parents moved to Salisbury right after I started at Hogwarts. But my dad’s gonna conjure up a few bicycles so we can get around the area quicker.”

“What’s a bicycle?” Sirius asked.

He didn’t expect Remus to snicker, or Peter to erupt into full peals of laughter.

“Jesus, Sirius, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week,” Peter said. “‘What’s a bicycle?’ You know we’ll have to spend all weekend teaching him to ride.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Remus said simply. “Anyway, I’m talking more about about... Well, why you’re leaving in just two weeks.”

Sirius and Peter looked at each other oddly. “I mean,” Sirius finally said, “we’re leaving in two weeks because I’ve got a wedding, Peter’s dad is back in the country, and -- oh right, you’ll be turning into a werewolf that weekend.”

“Keep your voice down,” Remus hissed. “I know that’s _really_ why you’re leaving. But my parents and I decided you’re leaving because my Aunt Eleanor is coming the next week.”

“You don’t have an Aunt Eleanor,” Peter said. “Do you?”

Sirius just laughed and shook his head back and forth. “Seriously, Remus? Seriously? You didn’t tell your parents that you told us?!”

“How was I supposed to?!” Remus shouted, all concerns about keeping his voice down clearly forgotten. “The one things my dad’s drilled into my head over and over since I was five is that I have to keep my condition a secret. When I tell him that all my friends know, he’s going to go mental.”

“This is just great,” Sirius said. “I think ‘Aunt Eleanor is visiting’ is almost as good as calling it your ‘furry little problem.’”

“Stop calling it either of those things,” Remus said. “It isn’t funny.”

“So you’ve told your parents that we don’t know anything about you being a werewolf,” Sirius said. “You have a story planned out for why James isn’t coming with us too?”

Damn it. Why did he even have a mouth, if he was going to keep putting his foot in it?

“You just couldn’t go a whole train ride without trying to stir something up, could you?” Remus was mad again — not as mad as last night, but mad. Peter shrank back into the corner, but Sirius ignored him.

“I’m not trying to ‘stir something up,’” Sirius said. “I’m just not as comfortable as you apparently are with pretending James just doesn’t exist.”

“I know he exists,” Remus said. “That’s the problem. He exists, and I’m angry at him. And I wish I wasn’t, because he’s my friend. But I am, and I don’t know what to do about that yet, and I just want some time before you start trying to make me decide what I’m doing.”

“What _we’re_ doing, you mean. Because you’re going to want us to go along with whatever you decide. Aren’t you?”

“Obviously, Sirius.” Remus’s disgust was plain on his face. “It would be great if you would have my back on this.”

“Well you’re not the only one who James hurt. So maybe you don’t get to make all the calls.”

“Oh, boo hoo. Jamesie hurt your little feelings because he didn’t tell you about his magic cape and you got a detention. He’s trying to compare keeping an Invisibility Cloak secret to my ‘condition.’ That _actually_ hurts.”

“Oh come on,” Sirius said. “Sorry, I didn’t realize werewolf feelings were more sensitive than human feelings. Or are we too close to the full moon for you to be thinking like a real boy?”

“Don’t you say that again.” There was almost electricity in Remus’s eyes. “I’m as bloody human as you are.”

“Apparently not,” Sirius said. “Apparently I am much less human than you because I don’t care about your feelings, or something.”

“That is not what I’m saying,” Remus replied.

“It sure sounds like it. What other rationale would you have for treating me like a flobberworm?”

The train lurched to a stop, and Peter broke into a wide, forced smile.

“We’re here!” he shouted. “Yay!”

Sirius and Remus ignored him.

“You know, Sirius,” Remus said. “If you’re going to be like this for the next two weeks, maybe you should go home with your brother instead.”

Sirius just laughed. “Of course that’s your answer. Just tell me to go away so I don’t make you have to think about things you would rather ignore.”

“Trust me, I’m not going to be ignoring this,” Remus said. “I just want to be able to spend my summer not obsessing over it. Is that too much to ask?”

“Maybe it is,” Sirius replied, getting to his feet. It felt like his body was moving faster than his mind. “I can’t just put this out of my mind like you, Remus. I’m sick about all of this. And now, apparently, I’m going to be sick alone.”

Remus’s face fell a little. “Wait… Sirius. Don’t go. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean something you said?” Sirius dragged his trunk down from the overhead bin with one hand, then reached up to grab Diana’s cage. “Guess you shouldn’t have said it then. Enjoy your vacation with Remus, Peter. Try not to think about how I’m picking my terrible family over you.”

Sirius was halfway down the compartment before he realized what we really happening. He’d just gotten in a fight with Remus now too. They were all fighting, all three of them. And he was going home to 12 Grimmauld Place instead of escaping to the country with his friends for two weeks.

What was he doing?

He had to turn around, go back, apologize.

But he didn’t want to apologize. He was right. They needed to talk about James. Remus couldn’t just pretend everything was okay.

On the other hand, they weren’t going to do a lot of talking if he was still back in London all summer.

Sirius realized he was stepping off the train only the moment his foot touched the concrete platform. He moved to the side a little, getting out of the way. He should wait for Remus and Peter. He could just apologize, go to Wiltshire with Remus’s parents.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted there to be some consequences for Remus’s actions.

Ironically, it occurred to him that this might be the same reason that Remus was acting the way he was about James.

He couldn’t back down. If he backed down now, Remus would forget all about this little tiff, and they would go to Wiltshire and play best friends and never talk about James and then who knew what would happen in the fall?

Because he _wanted_ to forgive James. He wasn’t there yet — not by a long shot. But he wanted to, eventually. James was one of his best friends. The only pureblood he’d ever met who didn’t care about it, and made him realize it was okay not to care about it too. To be Sirius, not just Sirius _Black_.

As angry as he was at James today, he didn’t want to spend the whole summer angry with him. And if he went home with Remus, that was what would happen.

So instead, he needed to go home to his house of horrors.

It didn’t take long for him to find his family, already greeting Regulus. His mother was as overdressed for the occasion as usual — wrapped in a spiraling black dress that perfectly fit her thin but solid frame, and Sirius could see some of the family jewels hanging about her neck and pinning her hair into a tall coif. Emeralds. Her favorite.

His father was there too, of course. Orion Black, the human statue. Sirius was his spitting image; it irritated both of them to no end. They shared the same hair, nose, squarish cut of jaw — the only real difference is that Sirius had never seen any of his father’s facial features soften with happiness or emotion. For all the warmth he showed to Regulus, who was practically jumping up and down to be home, his father might be at a funeral.

And yet that mighty marble face cracked just a little bit, when it looked up to see Sirius coming toward them.

“Son,” his father allowed, a bit of puzzlement and irritation showing in his eyebrows, “aren’t you supposed to be leaving with your… companions?”

His mother and Regulus looked up at him in twin surprise.

This is it. Last chance to go off with Remus and Peter.

“Plans changed,” he said simply, trying not to cry. “We’re not doing the trip. I’ll have to come home with you.”

He hated himself already for doing this.

* * *

He felt a little guilty about it, but James had never had so much fun on a train in his goddamn life. Not even with Sirius and Remus.

In his whole time as a reserve on the Quidditch team, his older teammates had largely been focused more on practicing together than getting to know him down on the bench.

Today, half of them were in the same train compartment with him, and it was like they’d been chums for years. Blake Wilson was behaving like a normal person, actually listening to other people speak without trying to interrupt them. James had finally told Isaac Langley about trying to break into the Slytherin common room after he’d been confounded by Percival Cain, and the older boy had bought him a half-dozen Chocolate Frogs from the trolley witch as a belated reward. And Kris Teak was basically talking to him like he was already on the team next year, and telling his dormmate Darryl he’d better go easy on James if he ever caught him out of bounds.

“Kris, I’m a prefect,” Darryl was saying. “I can’t just not take away house points if I see him out past curfew.”

“I mean, sure, I get it,” Kris said. “But maybe you could just…not see him.”

Darryl scoffed. “Maybe if he doesn’t want to get caught out past curfew, he shouldn’t be out past curfew.”

“I mean, I’m already out past curfew all the time,” James said, smirking, “and you haven’t caught me yet.”

The compartment erupted into cheers at that, Fabian laughing the loudest. Even Darryl himself couldn’t help but smirk a little.

The train came to a stop, and James suddenly realized that they were in King’s Cross. He’d been so overwhelmed by everything that had happened this afternoon that the transit had blown by, it seemed.

“All right,” Isaac said, getting to his feet with his friend Jordan. “We’d better get back to our actual compartment and get our stuff. Fun hanging with you, James. Better practice for next fall so we can actually be on the pitch together, y’hear?”

“Hey, let me know if you actually want to stop by my mum’s office this summer,” Jordan said as he passed by. “I’m sure she would be thrilled to have someone else to complain to that no one pays attention to the European Cup when it’s the same year as the World Cup. Might even be able to get you tickets for next year.”

“I’ll do that,” James said, grin as wide as a Quaffle.

“Isaac’s right,” Kris said, getting up with the others. “I like you, Potter, but you’ve still got to make the team.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” James said, looking over at Gideon for a second. “I’ll be a great team player by the fall.”

“Excellent.” Kris clapped him on the shoulder again, and then he was gone with the others, leaving just James and the twins in the compartment.

“Thank you,” James said immediately. “This was…this was great. I really appreciated it.”

“Of course,” Gideon said. “Just remember to pay it forward when you’re the one walking down the aisle and see a sad second-year looking pathetic all by himself.”

“Gideon.” Fabian kicked his brother in the shins. “We weren’t going to use that word,” he said to James, apologetically.

“It’s alright,” James said, getting up. “I was pretty pathetic. Sort of feel like I still am, to be honest.”

“Well,” Fabian said. “If things don’t work out with your friends, now you have a start of something else.”

“But I hope things do work out, mate,” Gideon said. “Way things are going these days, you need to have friends that you know have your back. Always.”

Gideon looked unwell again, and James had a sudden flash of realization. “You two — you actually _are_ joining the Ministry to fight in the war! I thought— I heard you saying to Sarina — wait, are you going to be Aurors or something, because—.”

“Not the Aurors,” Fabian said, as Gideon looked away and out the window, “or the Ministry. But yes. ‘Or something.’”

James didn’t even know what to say. In his mind, the war was a distant thing, a struggle between disagreeing grown-ups. But he knew Gideon and Fabian. Not like he knew Sirius and Remus… but they were only a few years older than him, and they were stepping off this train to risk their lives.

“Well, um…Thank you, I guess,” James said, finally. “I hope you’ll be safe, whatever you’re doing.”

“We probably won’t be,” Fabian said, smiling sadly. “But it’s worth doing, no matter how unsafe it is.”

“I hope this’ll be over before you leave Hogwarts,” Gideon said, without looking at him. “But if it’s not, James…”

Gideon turned back around, quickly rubbing his eyes. “You’re an exemplary little Gryffindor. Make sure you learn what you need to be an exemplary medium-size Gryffindor like us. If we’re still fighting in five years, we’ll need you.”

“I will,” James said, surprised to mean it.

“Good,” Gideon said, with a nod. “Now go on, get out of here. It’s un-Captainly for me to be blubbering on like this in front of a teammate.”

“Thank you,” James said again. He scarcely knew what else to say, but the Prewetts didn’t look like they were getting up to leave soon. So he backed out of the compartment, pulled his trunk down from the overhead, and started to head for the exit.

“James!”

Fabian’s voice stopped him, and James hurried back to the entrance. “Yeah?”

There was a strange gleam in Fabian’s eye. “For the sake of our legacies, we should probably pass on at least one bit of misadventure.”

James’s heart leapt.

“You’re going to be allowed to go to Hogsmeade, starting next year. But if I had to guess, eventually you are going to end up with a punishment that includes a ban on trips out of the castle.

“Which means you’re going to need to know about the secret passage into Hogsmeade on the fourth floor.”


	11. I Wanna Be Your Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite all the fighting with James and Sirius, Remus thinks Peter's time visiting him out in the country is going to go swimmingly. But there is a lot more on his friend's mind than Remus knows... even before he receives a mysterious letter he won't talk about.

“Are we seriously not going to talk about—”

“No. We are not.”

_(Gosh, this is going to be a fun two weeks.)_

Twenty minutes ago, after a seemingly uneventful train ride, Sirius had picked a massive fight with Remus, yelled a bunch of mean things at him, and then stormed off alone, leaving the two of them sitting alone in their compartment. Which would be comparatively fine if the fight hadn’t been about the _other_ huge fight they’d gotten in with James last night, which Peter was still not 100% sure he understood. Which would also be comparatively fine if Remus was going to talk about any of it with him.

“My parents should be around here somewhere,” Remus said, stepping off the train and turning his head from side to side. “Come on.”

Peter looked behind in the direction they weren’t walking. He could see Sirius talking to his very unhappy-looking parents, and further-off James was walking out of the station, holding the hand of a short, grey-haired woman.

“Dad!”

Peter’s head turned back around to see Remus hurrying up to a middle-aged man in a long tawny cloak who had to be his father. True, the older man’s hair was longer — reaching down to his shoulders — and he had three or four days’ growth of beard on his chin, but it was easy for Peter to imagine a 30-years-older Remus trying to pull off the same look.

_(Okay, maybe not the facial hair.)_

“Hello, Remus,” he said, catching his son in a quick hug. “And you must be Sirius?”

“Peter,” he corrected, setting down his trunk and Ringo’s empty cage and sticking out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lupin.”

“Lyall, please.” Despite the request, Peter sensed a bit of reserve to Remus’s father — like he wasn’t used to opening up to people; like he was only trying to be casual in order to get Peter to like him. Remus gave his dad an odd look that confirmed his suspicions.

Then again, maybe Lyall just didn’t know how to talk to his son’s friends because his son hadn’t had many.

“Sirius isn’t coming anymore,” Remus explained. “Miscommunication with his family.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Lyall said. “And I got your message about James right before I left. You’ve got a cute little owl, Peter; appreciate you loaning him to Remus. Bad luck to have two of your friends cancel at the last minute, though.”

_(Sure. Bad luck.)_

Remus ignored Lyall’s comment. “Where’s Mum?” he asked. “Off buying tickets for the train home?”

“Actually,” Lyall said, taking Remus’s trunk out of his hands. “we’re doing something a little different. Come along; we’ll be heading out of the station now.”

“Why?” Remus said, as he and Peter followed Lyall along the platform. “What about Mum?”

“She’s not here,” Lyall said over his shoulder. “She’s been busy at work the last week, taking on some extra responsibilities in the office. So the house has been a wreck all week, practically, and today’s the first time either of us had the chance to clean anything.”

“So you took the train by yourself? Why didn’t you just… you know…”

“You know how your mother is,” Lyall replied. “I handle the magic, she handles the mess. If I started trying to rock the boat a decade and a half in, I think I’d need the Wizengamot to get out of it.

“And besides,” he added, pushing through the doorway and out onto the street, “like I said, we’re doing something a little different. I didn’t take the train here — I stayed at home a bit longer and helped your mother.”

Before Remus could ask anything else, Lyall leapt into motion again, heading toward the crossing. The two boys had no choice but to follow him, hoping no one looked twice at the man wearing a cloak much too long and warm for London in July.

They didn’t go far. When they reached the other side of the street, Lyall led them up into a popular-looking pub, behind another family. Peter looked up to read the sign hanging overhead: “Gamp’s Exceptional Tavern.”

_(Where the hell are we going?)_

Within, the pub looked like any other Peter had been to with his parents — grease-stained wooden tables, a long bar at the front packed to the brim with patrons enjoying an afternoon pint, iron chandeliers with orange-gold orbs of light, walls packed with portraits and plaques of all kinds.

There were just two differences. Practically everyone he could see was identifiably a wizard. And one corner of the room had six fireplaces, lit up with viridian flames.

“I flooed here!” Lyall said, turning around and gesturing toward the fireplaces. Peter suddenly noticed that there was a short queue in front of them, families milling about and waiting their turn to head home. “Your mum and I figured since we got the fireplace all hooked up at the house, if James wasn’t going to be using it… Well, it seemed a silly opportunity to waste. And besides, I haven’t gone anywhere by Floo since before you were born, Remus.”

“Wicked,” Remus said. The fireplaces were clearly the least of his concerns at the moment, though. “There’s a wizard pub right here in the middle of London? I mean, I know there’s the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, but…”

“You know,” Peter interrupted, “now that we’re in here, I feel like I remember Jack saying that his family always flooed in to get him from London, but — oh, look, there he is!”

Lewis was up ahead, pulling away from two little girls who must have been his sisters, each trying to hang onto one arm. Remus and Peter waved quickly, and he saw them just as he was stepping into the fireplace, shouting something unintelligible back at them.

“Shouldn’t be shouting like that as he goes into the Floo Network,” Lyall said, disapprovingly. “My first job after leaving school was working in wizard retrieval for the Network, you know. You would not believe where I ended up tracking some mumblers to. Shall we queue?”

“Sure,” Remus said, looking to Peter. “You don’t mind going right away, right?”

“No, no problem at all,” Peter said. He was glad Lyall had said something to be honest. He’d never used the Floo Network to get anywhere before, and the whole business had seemed terribly suspect to him.

_(What happens if you say where you’re going, but you go in too soon, or too late, and then you catch on fire?!)_

“Good,” Remus’s dad said, leading them across the room. “If Hope has finished cleaning the living room, she’s probably making biscuits of some sort. Currant, I would guess, based on what we have left in the house from the grocer’s. She’s a tremendous cook, Remus’s mother.”

“What about ginger snaps?” Remus asked. “I haven’t had those in ages.”

Peter watched Remus and his dad chatter back and forth warily, with a bit of uncertainty. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised to see the two of them so chummy, but every time he came back home for a holiday, or break, it took him a week or more to feel like things were back to normal with his dad. The fact that the house still felt empty with his mum gone probably didn’t help.

“Well, if she isn’t making them already, I’ll run out tonight and get some ginger and cloves,” Lyall said. “I’ve got to go up to the Forest of Dean tomorrow or Monday — Ministry thinks there’s an ankou running around out there and want me to get rid of it before the Death Eaters find out about it and try to collect it. It’d be good to have a tasty reminder of home while I’m out in the field.”

“What’s an ankou?” Peter said as they shuffled forward in line.

Lyall seemed to hesitate a moment before responding. “Something like a boggart, or poltergeist. We think they spawn when a community is anxious about the prospect of dying. And I think that’s all we need to say about that.”

_(Mental note: Do not run into anything “spawned by anxiety about dying.”)_

Peter felt a bit guilty about bringing down the conversation, so he pretended to be very interested in cleaning an imaginary speck on his trunk while Remus and his father made small talk.

He wondered what James and Sirius were telling their parents about why they weren’t coming out west for the next two weeks.

He wondered if his father had gotten in trouble for making his record player yet.

He wondered whether Mordicus Egg was still in his office, pretending the most horrible thing he could imagine hadn’t occurred at all.

“Looks like we’re next!”

Peter shook the cobwebs out of his head and stepped forward. He, Remus and Remus’s dad stood in front of an open fireplace, flames starting to subside into a normal orange color.

“Now, Remus, you go first, won’t you? Here, take your trunk back.”

Remus stepped forward and took a pinch of powder out of a tall basin next to the fireplace, tossing it in. “7 Spire View!”

The flames rose high over his friend’s head, and then Remus stepped through, his trunk held tight against him. And he vanished.

“Alright, you’re up next, Peter. You’ve done this before, right?”

“Sure,” Peter lied, trying to look like someone who had travelled by Floo before and not like someone whose dad was up to too much shady business to even connect the house to the Network.

Lyall didn’t look convinced, honestly, but he didn’t say anything except to offer to take Peter’s trunk so he only had to worry about one piece of luggage. He clutched the empty cage tight against his chest, hoping it looked like a more casual gesture than it felt.

Taking a handful of Floo powder, Peter readied himself, tossed the gritty dust into the flames and shouted the Lupins’ address loudly before he walked forward into the flames.

He had imagined the transfer would be instantaneous — walk in one fireplace, walk out the other— but instead he began to spiral, like he was being flushed down a giant drain.

_(Going up a chimney pipe would make more sense, but then why did it feel like his stomach was dropping dropping dropping like when he accidentally took the sliding stairwell down from the fifth floor to the dungeons?)_

The nice thing about Portkeys, Peter realized, was that he always felt poorly enough taking one that he never knew how long the trip lasted. Not so with the Floo Network. He was disoriented, true, and occasionally surprised by bits of conversation that seemed to come out of grates flashing by, but not enough so that he couldn’t feel time passing. How much time, he couldn’t have guessed, but it was longer than 17 seconds, which was about the longest he wanted to be surrounded by hot and cold fire, spinning in circles, and terribly lost.

And then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over, and he was stumbling out onto a kelly green carpet that seemed in danger of swallowing his ankles.

“Ah, and this is Peter!”

While it was clear from their brief interaction that Remus took after his father, Peter had still expected his mother Hope to be similarly bookish. Instead, the woman hugging Remus was tall and sturdy, a full head and a half taller than her son, with long chestnut-brown hair that stretched most of the way to her waist pushed back by a white headband. She looked to have been interrupted in the middle of scrubbing the glass table in the middle of the room clean, with both sleeves of her blouse rolled up past the elbows.

She broke away from Remus as Peter stepped into the room, and led him away from the fireplace. “Come along, dear, we’ll get you all sorted in a minute. How was your trip via Floo? I have to say the idea of it sounds quite overwhelming, fireplaces that take you from one to the other. Is it a comfortable trip?”

“Uh, sort of,” Peter said, looking around the room. The first thing he noticed is that it was quite large, with high ceilings well out of even Mrs. Lupin’s reach. It seemed like the space contained practically everything except bedrooms and toilets, though he could see a stairway and short corridor on the opposite wall. Across the way, he saw Remus cross up a half-step that seemed to stretch across the entire room, and led directly to an exposed kitchen and dining room table, with a giant wall-length window and glass door letting light shine into the house.

“Remus, don’t you dare go fishing around that kitchen,” Hope said, looking over her shoulder at the sound of him opening the refrigerator. “There’s biscuits and tarts on the table. You can have two — _not of each_ — before dinner. You’ll ruin your appetite otherwise.”

“Missed you too, mum,” Remus muttered. But he listened, closing the door and going over to the tray. “Want one, Peter?”

Lyall came through the fireplace just as Peter was picking up a currant and raspberry tart. “Well, looks like we all made it in one piece then?”

“The boys arrived with their appetites intact, and I think that’s the most important thing,” Hope said, walking over to give Lyall a peck on the cheek.

Peter wondered if his parents had ever been like this.

“Well, boys, why don’t you take your luggage up to your rooms,” Lyall said, setting Peter’s trunk down next to Ringo’s cage. “Peter, since you’re the only one here, you can have the guest bedroom to yourself if you’d like. I’ve got your owl up there now for the time being.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lupin,” Peter said, stuffing the tart in his mouth and grabbing his stuff, with Remus slowly following behind him.

Lyall looked as though he should tell Peter to use his first name again, but didn’t really want to. “Not really any house rules,” he said with a smile, “so make yourself at home, Peter.”

“Except,” Hope said quickly, “don’t go into the basement.”

Remus and Lyall both froze, looking back at Hope with not-well-disguised concern.

_(God, is it going to be like this the whole time?)_

“I mean… It’s not clean,” Hope said, a bit flustered. “And I’m doing it up for your Aunt Eleanor, Remus. You remember, she’s coming to visit right after Peter leaves?”

“Right,” Remus said, his voice flat. “How could I forget? Basement’s boring anyway. C’mon, Peter.”

As Peter followed Remus up the steps, he realized it was going to be a very unusual two weeks.

* * *

“Almost ready, mate?” Remus poked his head around the corner of Peter’s room — well, the guest room, really, but all the rooms felt like guest rooms to him in this new house — to see his friend sitting on his bed, stuffing the last few things into a knapsack.

“Yeah, just give me a moment,” Peter said. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few.”

Remus couldn’t imagine there was much left for Peter to do… but there on the bed next to him was a half-crumpled letter. The same one Peter had gotten a couple days before. The one he’d gone up to his room to read alone. The one he never let more than an arm’s length away from him and never said a word to Remus about.

Remus had only gotten a glimpse at the words inside, but that was enough for him to know it wasn’t from James or Sirius. While James might be the sort to try out vivid green ink just for the fun of it, neither of the other two boys could write in as small a hand as whomever had sent that note to Peter. Besides, Sirius had already sent them a note — one that Remus has shoved, unread, as far back in his desk drawer as it could go.

That just left Peter’s parents, unless Peter was closer to one of the Gryffindor girls than he thought — pretty unlikely. He couldn’t imagine good news from either of them would make his friend act this way.

But he bit back all his questions and went downstairs with his bag. His dad was getting ready too, emptying what looked like half the fridge into his suitcase.

“Going down to Salisbury again today?” his dad said, automatically handing Remus one of the muffins he was holding.

“I think so,” Remus said, trying to keep his answers short. He didn’t lie to his dad much, so he had no idea how good he was at it.

“Well, your mum’s not going to be back from work until late,” he replied, seeming unaware of Remus’s evasion, “but she put a hen in that contraption over there before she left. Said by the time you boys are back it should be cooked. Honestly, the gadgets these Muggles are making these days are practically stranger than magic.”

Remus looked at the oblong, pastel slow cooker on the countertop, plugged into the wall, and made a mental note to ask Peter what kind of takeaway he wanted for dinner, in case the bird within turned out as sludgy as it had the last time he’d been home.

“How long are you going to be in France again?” Remus asked, mouth full of pastry.

“Just the weekend,” his father replied, slamming the suitcase shut. “Maybe not even through Sunday. Seems like every time I go off to talk to researchers in a lab, they’ve never even seen a poltergeist in the wild, much less know anything new I can bring back to the Ministry. But when the boss says to talk to the wizards in the white robes…”

“…go talk to the wizards in the white robes,” Remus finished.

Behind him, he heard Peter coming down the steps. “Ooh, are there muffins left?”

“Just the one,” Remus said, grabbing it and walking away from his dad. “And you’re gonna eat it on the run, right?”

“Uh, sure,” Peter said, sounding terribly disappointed. “Bye, Mr. Lupin. Have fun in, uh…”

“France.”

“France!”

Remus practically pushed Peter out the door before he was done talking. If they were doing this, they were doing it right — which meant wasting time cycling the wrong way down the drive and circling back to head north.

By the time Peter finished eating his muffin one-handed — nearly wiping out twice — he and Remus were on their way up to Stonehenge.

Remus had been surprised when Peter mentioned it on Wednesday, while they were flipping through a Muggle paper they’d picked up at a teashop downtown. It was the day after he’d gotten his strange letter, and he’d spent most of the day sulking up and down the streets of Salisbury. But halfway through the paper, his expression had changed slightly.

“Hey,” he said,” you didn’t tell me you lived by Stonehenge.”

Remus looked up from rereading _Muggle Minister, Magic Minister_ , and eyed Peter from the other end of the couch. He had turned the paper around to show a photo of Muggles celebrating something or other around the series of stones.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Remus said. “I never really thought about it. But they’re just rocks, right? I feel like I read somewhere that they’re Muggle-built, not magical.”

Peter’s brow arced ever-so-slightly, in a fashion Remus had come to recognize as the rare occurrence where Peter knew something the other boys didn’t. But he didn’t reveal what it was — all he said aloud was, “Could we go, before the end of next week? I’d like to see it.”

“Well, I don’t really know how far it is…” Remus looked over at his dad, in the middle of making dinner. “Dad? How far off is Stonehenge from here?”

“Oh, too far for the two of you,” he said, without properly looking up. “I mean, you probably _could_ bike there if you needed to, but your mother would have a fit. Why? Do you want me to ask her if she can take you this weekend?”

“No,” Remus said quickly, with a conspiratorial glance at Peter. “Just curious. Peter was just saying it’s around here and I hadn’t thought about it much.”

“Yeah, a buddy of mine at the Ministry said it wasn’t much to see when I told him we were moving out here,” his dad said. “So your mum and I have never been. If you change your mind, let me know; it could be a fun family outing.”

“Sure,” Remus said. As casually as he could, he slipped a scrap of paper in to mark his place — he thought the book dragged a bit in describing how close the Muggle prime ministers came to being killed in all four phases of the Great Goblin Rebellion anyway — and went over to the bookshelf to grab a small pamphlet of maps. “Sounds good.”

To their mutual disappointment, Remus and Peter realized quickly into the trip that Remus’s father hadn’t been lying about how long the ride was. After about 45 minutes, they found themselves pulling off into a patch of green grass, and breaking into their supplies of water and snacks.

“We’re more than halfway there,” Peter said, Remus’s maps spread out in front of him. “Or at least, I think we’re more than halfway there. Hard to tell exactly where we are, everything looks the same to me.”

Remus snorted. “You’re such a city boy. Need a postcode every eight blocks or you’ll get hopelessly lost.”

“Oh, you’ve never even properly lived here,” Peter snapped back. “Don’t go acting like you know your way around any better than me.”

“That’s fair,” Remus said. He probably hadn’t even spent a total of six months out in this part of the country — the summer hols last year, and Christmas this year, and Easter the year before, that was all. He was glad it felt as much like home as it did.

A long patch of puffy white clouds shielded them from the morning sun, and Remus found himself half-dozing as he looked out at the loping hills around them. He could see why Salisbury had appealed to his parents. It wasn’t the middle of nowhere — they’d lived in too many places like that while he was growing up — but there was still a bit of tranquility to it. It was a welcome change from the gloom of Scotland.

“So, you’re going to tell your parents they don’t have to bother with the whole Aunt Eleanor thing, right?”

Peter had asked the question right when Remus was taking a gulp of water from his canteen, and it took everything in him not to spit it all right back in surprise.

The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but Remus knew better. Peter had probably been mulling the question over ever since the very first day they’d arrived in Wiltshire, when his mum had told them not to go in the basement and been so _weird_ about it. Peter being Peter, he hadn’t said a word that day — he just hurried upstairs and started unpacking while feeding treats to his owl. Like nothing was wrong. Like he had no idea that Remus’s “Aunt Eleanor” was a not-so-elaborate lie disguising the fact that Peter could only stay until the night Remus transformed into a man-eating monster.

Remus was sure he’d been waging a constant internal war over what to say and when, though. It couldn’t have been when they were at his house, of course. And Remus had been sure to keep their days busy and routine: Sleep in as late as his parents would let them, eat a quick breakfast, then bike into town with a sack lunch and explore until it started getting dark. As long as they were moving about, uncovering something new, there wasn’t any space for Peter to start picking at the truth.

But he’d gotten sloppy and forgetful. Sitting on the side of the road, lazily looking up at the skies, not a soul around — perfect time to ask why he was lying to his parents about whether or not he was still lying to his friends.

“I just mean,” Peter said, seeming to grow nervous at Remus’s lack of response, “I don’t know what there is to be afraid of. Your parents know you’re a werewolf. Why should it be a big deal that I know too?”

“You do not know my dad,” Remus said, thinking about the set of chains in the basement.

“I mean, I know, but I’ve _gotten_ to know him a little this week,” Peter said. “And he seems… I don’t know. Relaxed? Casual?”

“Well, sure,” Remus said. “I’m still me this week. When he can forget I’m a werewolf, things are great. Just wait until next week — the closer we get to a full moon, the more uncomfortable things are going to get.

“And on top of that,” he added, “my dad is adamant that I not tell anyone. Ever. If he had it his way, not even the Ministry would know — and from what I understand, it’s just a small handful of people who really _do_ know anything about it.”

“But you did tell someone,” Peter said, unscrewing his own canteen. “Three someones. And we’ve all kept your secret. And we’re all going to keep your secret.”

“I don’t know if I can count on that from James and Sirius now, honestly,” Remus said, “so maybe this is not the opportune time to make that argument.”

“You don’t really think—”

“Hey Peter,” Remus interrupted, “who’s that letter from?”

“My dad,” Peter said quickly. Suspiciously quickly.

But he didn’t say anything else — Remus’s goal, achieved.

They sat there a moment, neither wanting to say anything else, before Remus finally spoke. “Come on, we’ve rested long enough. This map says we’ve still got a ways to go.”

Remus stood up and hopped onto his cycle without looking to see if Peter was following. After a few moments, he could hear the other boy, huffing and puffing behind as he tried to catch up. Remus ignored the stab of pity in his chest and kept pedaling.

Remus had never gone this far north of Salisbury, and despite his frustration with Peter for bringing up “Aunt Eleanor,” the view of the countryside did a lot to dissipate his anger.

Per a recommendation in a guidebook he’d found at home, they were staying on a path close to the River Avon, rather than braving the steadily rising hills he could see in the distance. Supposedly, the area around Stonehenge itself wasn’t that elevated, so if they kept on this path, they shouldn’t have much trouble getting there and back.

The thing that was really bugging him about Peter questioning him how evasive _Peter_ was being. About everything. Not just the letter. He hadn’t even properly told Remus what it was that he was hoping to see out at Stonehenge today.

The most he’d gotten out of his friend was that someone had told him about Stonehenge once, and he didn’t know when he would be out here next, so he wanted to go see it while he had the chance. To Remus’s mind, that was a good excuse to visit when he was old enough to Apparate, not a good excuse to do it now, on bicycles, traveling a distance they’d never done before, without his parents’ permission. But for all he knew, Peter was the last friend he had left, and he couldn’t risk upsetting him overmuch.

“You could have waited for me,” Peter gasped, finally pulling up alongside him.

“Sorry,” Remus said. He pointedly kept biking, without mentioning their prior conversation, and Peter took the hint.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, until the moment they realized the lumpy shape on the horizon ahead was Stonehenge itself.

“Whoa,” Remus said, coasting to a stop. “There it is.”

Peter stopped alongside him. “It looks…smaller than I expected.”

“Well, we’re far away,” Remus said. “Bet they’re bigger when you get up close.”

Remus was right, but not by much. The stones got bigger as they biked closer and closer, but after a while Remus realized the tallest of them might have been as tall as his mum’s office building at most. But they were still daunting in their own way — their simplicity as much a surprise as their size. There were a couple of people there already when they got up to the small entry station — a couple necking against one of the arches, a family pointedly trying to avoid looking at them, and a pair of older men dressed in tie-dye so garish Remus wondered if they might be wizards as well.

They paid a few pounds each to get in — thank Merlin they’d remembered to bring Muggle money — and laid their bikes down on the ground before walking into the center of the stones.

The grass was all worn away under Remus’s feet as he turned in circles, studying each of the structures in turn. There seemed an intent to all of it — as if the ones still intact were meant to stay that way and the ones that had slightly crumbled were meant to be that way as well.

“I can’t believe that Muggles really made this,” Remus whispered, walking up to rub his hand along one of the pillars. “Can you?”

“No, because they didn’t,” Peter said. Remus turned to look at him. He had that victorious expression on his face again.

“I mean, maybe, but there are a bunch of things Muggles built without magical intervention way back in the day. This could be one of them.”

“It could be,” Peter replied. “But it’s not.”

Remus hesitated a moment, and then turned and sat down, gesturing that Peter should do the same. And then he just waited for the other boy to start talking again.

“You know how I’d occasionally stay after Defense Against the Dark Arts, to talk to Professor Egg?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Come to think of it, Remus hadn’t really noticed — but both their Tuesday and Friday classes of Defense Against the Dark Arts always came before a free period, so his mind was generally on that more than Peter’s comings and goings. He supposed there were more than a few days where Peter said he’d catch up with them at Transfiguration, or see them at lunch.

“He and I sort of… I don’t know how to say it. It’s like he’s the first professor at Hogwarts who’s ever noticed me.”

“Noticed you?” Remus gave Peter a look, and the other boy flushed bright red and hit him lightly on the arm.

“Gross, no, not like that, you arse. I mean in class. Like how Brocken always liked everything Sirius wrote in class, and how McGonagall goes nuts for James’s transfigurations even if she pretends not to, and how _every_ teacher likes you from day one. Professor Egg is the first teacher at school who’s ever realized I’m not as dense as Quickley and Dawlish.”

“Okay…”

“Anyway — I would stay after class with him sometimes, just to chat for a little bit before his third-years came in. And sometimes he would tell me stuff about himself — like, what it was like going to Hogwarts in the ‘40s, or what he did when he was working for the Ministry. And he was always telling me about his best friend, a curse-breaker who works out in places like this, in the old Celtic fields.”

“Wicked,” Remus said. “Curse-breaking is so cool.”

Peter kept talking like he wasn’t listening to Remus. “His friend specializes in exploring stone circles like these. Apparently, if you know the right set of spells, they can turn into gateways that lead to a… between-place, he called them. Like a maze, or a labyrinth.”

Remus looked around at the stones, wide-eyed. “And he said there’s one here?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Peter smiled, but it was sad somehow. “He said there wasn’t. Because this isn’t an authentic magical henge.”

“So it _was_ made by Muggles?”

“No, wizard-made,” Peter said. “But only a couple hundred years back, right around the time when they passed the International Statute of Secrecy. See, before Stonehenge was here, Muggles were always poking around the old henges that had actual magic in them — damaging them, or falling in if a wizard or witch had already activated them and left the doorway open. So the Ministry approved the creation of Stonehenge to look like an ancient henge. One of the tasks of the Muggle Liaison Office is to promote tourism to Stonehenge, in order to draw people away from all the other ones. Makes life a lot easier for curse-breakers like Egg’s friend.”

“Huh,” Remus said. He ran his fingers along the stone again. Sure _felt_ older than a couple hundred years. “So this place is just one big lie?”

“Yep,” Peter said. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I mean, I’m not disappointed,” Remus said. “It’s still interesting. I just… I don’t understand why you wanted to come up here if you knew it wasn’t real.”

Peter didn’t say anything right away — just played with the hem of his shirt, while Remus waited.

“So,” he finally said, “remember last week, when we got caught coming out of the Cavern, and McGonagall told me to stick around after she sent you and Sirius back upstairs?”

“Of course,” Remus said.

“She told me that she was going to have to contact the Ministry about my record player — that my father had enchanted it in a way that violated some rule about Muggle objects. So I went to see Professor Egg. I thought that if anyone knew how to help, it would be the professor who had experience working with Muggles.”

“Makes sense,” Remus said. He suddenly recalled that Egg had been absent from the end-of-term feast. “But you didn’t find him, right? Because—”

“Thing is,” Peter interrupted, “I did. He was up in his office. And…”

“And what?” Remus said. “Peter…”

“He was there. In his office. But he wasn’t…there.”

“That doesn’t—”

“He was just sitting there, in his bedroom. A wreck. Staring out into space at nothing. And then he told me this…story. This horrible story. He’d just found out that his parents had been killed, by Death Eaters. And his wife…they’d tortured her. He said she was mad. He seemed halfway there himself.”

“Oh my god,” Remus breathed. Peter had looked like a wreck when he came in that night, but Remus had just chalked it up to them getting caught. He’d never thought there could be something else wrong.

“I don’t… I don’t know what happened to him after that,” Peter said, staring off at the stones. “At a certain point, I just… I had to leave. But when I saw that you lived so close to Stonehenge, I just thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. It just felt like the only thing I could do for him, you know?”

Remus didn’t know what Peter wanted from him. But he had the feeling it didn’t really matter, as long as he stayed there next to him. As long as Peter needed.

* * *

Peter sat on the bed in Remus’s guest room, idly playing with the half-empty matchbook his father had sent him to serve as a Portkey. The window was still open, where he’d sent Ringo out to fly home ahead of him, letting in a surprisingly brisk breeze. He should close that, probably. But he still had a little bit of time before he had to go.

_(If I pull a match out of this matchbook, does it still stay a Portkey? Do the match and the matchbook become Portkeys?)_

He was stalling, he realized. He didn’t want to get his things and go downstairs. Say goodbye to Remus and his parents. Arrive home to an empty house. And then…

Peter thought again of the letter he’d gotten last week, tucked in the pocket of his jacket. He still didn’t know if he’d made the right decision about it.

“Peter?”

Remus’s mum was coming in, all smiles. She and Remus’s dad had both taken the day off, like they needed to watch him go to make sure he didn’t secretly hide out to discover Remus’s secret. “It’s almost 11, dear. Isn’t that when you said—”

“Yeah,” he said, getting to his feet quickly and faking a smile. “Guess I should stop sitting about then.”

_(Not that it matters. Eleven sharp, then this thing takes me home whether I’m ready or not.)_

“I have to say,” Hope said, following him out of the room. “It has been just so lovely having you here, Peter. I think it’s done wonders for Remus.”

“Uh, sure,” he said.

“No, really.” She lightly touched his arm before he began descending the steps, and Peter turned in surprise. “You wouldn’t know this, probably, but… Well, Remus doesn’t generally do well during the holidays, by himself. I suppose you see a little bit of it at school every month—”

_(Wait, what?)_

“Every month?” Peter said, his mind racing like a broomstick. “I don’t… What do… When you’re, um, sick, you mean?”

Hope looked as shocked as he was. “I mean when Remus is — wait, he’s told you —”

 _(Shit. He’s been telling them he’s been telling us_ he’s _the one with the disease.)_

“I’m sorry,” Peter said quickly. “I misspoke. I meant, er, when _he’s_ sick. Every month. I mean, not every month, that would be so suspiciously regular, but like about every four or five or maybe even six weeks, who’s counting?”

_(Nice work. Very convincing.)_

“Yes,” Remus’s mother said, seeming to catch herself as well. She was looking at Peter very suspiciously, now, but didn’t say anything else directly. “He’s been better, with you here. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Well, I’m glad I came then,” Peter replied, before practically hurling himself down the flight of stairs before he said anything else moronic.

“All set?” Remus said, getting up from the breakfast table to stand next to his father. The next full moon was only a night or two away, but his friend was standing straight and smiling wide, trying hard not to look as sickly as he usually did.

_(For whose benefit, I wonder?)_

“Uh, yes, I think…” Peter looked at the clock hanging over the stove. 10:58. Did he have enough time to pull Remus aside, or—

“Peter,” Lyall said, stepping forward and extending his hand, “it has been just exemplary to have you here. Terribly sad you can’t stay longer.”

“Yeah, me also,” Peter said, gingerly taking Lyall’s hand. “Very exemplary. Such a good time. Do you think—”

“I hope you’ll consider coming again sometime,” Lyall said, talking over him.

_(These two are laying on the pleasantries a bit thick. Not the most convincing werewolf parents in all of Britain.)_

“Bye, Peter,” Remus said, the instant Lyall stepped back. Peter wanted to go over and whisper in his ear, give him a hint of what had happened on the stairs, tell him about his mum. But both the Lupins were standing right there, and Remus was handing him his trunk and Ringo’s empty cage, which Lyall had transfigured small enough to fit in a pocket last night. And it was 10:59 now. No time.

“See you around, mate,” Peter said, taking the trunk in one hand and holding the matchbook tight in the other. “Let me know, uh, how things are after your Aunt Eleanor leaves town.”

“Of course,” Remus said, with a conspiratorial look in his eye.

_(He loves getting one over on his parents, doesn’t he? All these years of keeping secrets, and now he’s keeping one from them. Or he thinks he is.)_

“I’ll send you a letter in a couple days,” Remus continued. “Maybe we can—”

Peter never heard the rest of what Remus was going to say. His right arm jerked up of its own accord for a split-second, and then he was gone, whirling about in circles, carried away by the matchbook Portkey in his hand.

One quick tumble later, he was standing in his own living room instead of the Lupins’, knuckles scarcely white at all.

_(Seems like I’m finally getting better at this.)_

Peter didn’t have to look around to know that the house was as empty as his dad had promised it would be. There was a stillness to the place, a silence and absence of tension that told him his father was still on the Continent, as promised.

He checked the whole house anyway, just to be sure.

When he was properly convinced he was alone, he went back downstairs, pulling off the thin jumper he’d put on this morning in slightly-colder Witshire, and found the pile of Muggle money his dad had promised he’d leave. He grabbed it all, retrieved the spare key from under a pile of letters, and walked out the front door, headed straight for Queensway Station.

Peter had been a little worried about what it would look like for him to hopping on the Underground unsupervised — if a growth spurt was ever coming for him, it was taking its time, and there would be no mistaking him for even a 15-year-old. But no one in the station looked twice at him, even the man who took his money and handed back a ticket without a single word being exchanged. So Peter followed the rest of the Muggles down into the Underground, squeezing his way into a single seat on the already-crowded train that whisked into the tunnel a few minutes after he’d arrived.

He looked up at the simple station map as he sat down, counting the number of stops until Liverpool Street. It was further than he’d thought. Good. He could use the time.

No one around was paying a lick of attention to him, so Peter reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the increasingly crumpled letter he’d received last week. There was the possibility, he supposed, that this whole trip was a waste of time. He’d only written back yesterday morning, and he’d been in such a rush to leave the house that he hadn’t even thought to check if Ringo had brought back a letter of his own.

But it was too late to do anything now. Except wait for Liverpool Street. And read this letter to himself again, one last time.

 

_Peter,_

_I need to open this letter with an apology, even though you don’t know yet what for. But I’ve been putting off writing this letter for weeks now, and that isn’t fair to you. I’ve made enough mistakes out of fear that have hurt you, and I fear that I may have done so again. All I can do is sit down, and write it, and hope it is not too late._

_Next week, I will be in London. There are a number of things I left undone when I left your father two years ago, and over the last year I have been working to resolve those lapses. I believe I have accomplished all but three: formally filing for divorce from your father with the Ministry, closing my personal account at Gringotts, and — most importantly — having a long, proper conversation with you._

_In truth, I do not know if this last is possible, regardless of your wishes on the matter. The reason I have chosen this week to return to London is because your father will not be there — an old friend has been keeping me apprised of his movements, of late, and I have made his trips out of England opportunities to take quick trips into England. This, I believe, shall be my final one, for a long time._

_So it is more than possible that you will be with your father, wherever he is. But I hope, for more reasons than I dare to put on paper, that you are not, Peter. I hope you are in London, and safe, and at liberty to see me._

_I have a great many things that I have left unsaid to you, and I hope to have the chance to. But more than anything else, I wish to simply see you again — my bright, beautiful son, who I have missed dearly these last two years._

_If you are here, and wish to see me as well, please write back to me as soon as you are able. My business in London will conclude on the 13_ _ th _ _with a trip to the Ministry, after which I will return to Nice for the foreseeable future. I hope to do so with fresh memories of you to keep me company._

 

* * *

The instant Peter vanished, Remus saw all of the tension go out of his father’s body.

“Well, your friend Peter is certainly a nice boy,” he said, smile not quite as wide as it should have been. “Shame the rest of your friends weren’t able to be here.”

“Oh yeah,” Remus said, rolling his eyes and crossing the room to get to the stairs. “It would have been super fun to see how worried you could be that _three_ people would somehow discover I’m a werewolf.”

“Excuse me?”

“Watch your tone, young man.”

Remus breezed past his mother without acknowledging either her comment or his dad’s. As he went up the stairs, he could hear them murmuring about which one was going to go upstairs to talk to him.

It was a stupid debate for them to have. It was going to be his mum. It was always his mum.

Sure enough, 10 minutes after he’d gone upstairs, slammed his door closed, and flopped onto his bed, he heard a delicate knock.

“Remus? Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Remus. I want to respect your privacy. But I am not talking through this door at you.”

Muttering curses under his breath, Remus reached over to his nightstand and picked up his wand, pointing it backwards and casting a door-opening spell without looking back at the shower of sparks or his mother as she came into view.

“Thank you,” she said from behind him. “Although I will remind you that you are not supposed to use magic out of school. You’re underage.”

God, she was a worse stickler than his father, the _actual wizard_.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to ground me,” he said. “Better confine me to the basement right away though. Wouldn’t want me to get all hairy in two nights and wreck this nice bedroom.”

She ignored that. “Remus, you have no right to talk to your father and I like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hardly trying to sound convincing. “You know how it is a couple days before a change. Oh, wait, no you don’t.”

“I know enough,” she said, coming over to sit on the edge of his bed. “Maybe your father hasn’t realized your moods come and go with the moon yet, but mums all know more than their sons give them credit for.”

Remus scoffed at that, but didn’t say anything.

From behind, his mum seemed to hesitate. “Remus, dear… Is there anything you want to talk to me about? It can be just me. Whatever you want to say, it can just be between us.”

He could just tell her about the boys knowing. It wouldn’t be like telling his dad. Probably.

But the wolf in him was howling, and he knew he couldn’t do it without hurting her.

Or at least that was the excuse he gave.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Remus said. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Alright,” she said, getting off the bed. “No more magic in here. Come down when you’re ready for lunch.”

When she swung the door closed, Remus was all alone again.

He’d forgotten how horribly sad that felt.

* * *

If he was being honest, Peter had picked Liverpool Street on a whim. He’d never truly paid attention the handful of times he and his parents had been out on the Underground, so if he’d ever been to this part of London, he had no recollection of it.

When he stepped out of the train, he regretted his choice almost instantly. Queensway had been nothing to write home about, but the station surrounding him was dark and smelly, with haunting black metalwork all around him, and a great many people too.

It took him the better part of a half-hour to find his way out of the mazelike station, and when he came out into sunlight on the London streets, he was so delighted he almost forgot the reason he was there in the first place.

He walked a little ways from the entrance, slowly turning to look in all directions. He’d written his mum that he would wait outside the station, but it hadn’t occurred to him until just now that there might be more than one exit. For all he knew, his mum wasn’t even here. She was standing somewhere else, waiting hopelessly for—

“Peter!”

She was there, suddenly, just off to his right, and Peter realized that he had actually seen her and kept looking. The last time he’d seen his mother had been almost two years before at Kings Cross, when she and his father had taken him to the Hogwarts Express for the first time. There had been nothing exceptional about her that day — just the same old blonde, shoulder-length hair he was used to, a light dusting of makeup, a simple strand of pearls and a dress he couldn’t even remember the color of, come to think of it.

The woman rushing toward him was clearly his mother, but he couldn’t be too upset with himself for not noticing. Her hair was still blonde, thankfully, but it had somehow turned curly instead of straight, billowing out from underneath the paisley scarf wrapped around the top of her head. Almost as surprising was the fact that she was wearing a simple white blouse and flared pants, similar to the ones he’d seen en masse at the Zeppelin concert though mercifully not as vibrantly colored. A chic black, they served to draw the eye more to the color of her scarf and the three or four rings he could see glimmering on her fingers.

_(Including, I think, a silver band where her gold wedding ring used to be.)_

“Oh, Peter, it’s so good to see you!”

His mother bent down and hugged him before Peter could even properly react, and she even started to spin him in a circle. It was mortifying. As she let go, he backed a step away immediately, trying to ignore the scowls of passersby who gave the two of them a wide berth.

 _(Merlin’s beard, am I_ sure _this is her?)_

“Hi,” Peter said simply, feeling embarrassed. “You, uh, look—”

“I know,” his mother said, looking a little sheepish and adjusting her scarf. He suddenly realized her eyes were ringed by thick lines of makeup. “The first couple of times I was back, I brought all my old clothes with me, thinking I would look silly. But it just got so tiresome, pretending like that. Somehow I feel like I blend in better around all these Muggles if I just look like another glamorous foreigner.”

_(Tiresome? Pretending?)_

“Come,” she said, taking his hand. “I walked past a little cafe on my way here. We can sit in back, won’t even have to put up a Silencing Charm I suspect.”

His mother didn’t wait for an answer, pulling him down Liverpool Street. The whole way, she peppered him with questions: How were exams? What had he been doing since school let out? How were his friends? Had he been eating? What classes was he taking in the fall? Was he _sure_ he’d been eating?

Peter kept his answers short as he could, mind racing. He knew from their letters back and forth that his mother had reinvented her life since she’d left his father. But it hadn’t truly occurred to him what that actually meant. In his mind, his mother had been the same as she always was, except in France, and with a man who wasn’t his father. Now it seemed as though her location and her choice of companion were the least dramatic changes she’d made.

She was right about the cafe; it was small and discreet, and among its patrons were two other women whose bohemian dress matched his mother’s. The waitress brought them each a cup of tea and a small tray of biscuits to share, and then left them alone to enjoy them.

_(Mum looks almost as relieved to see her go as I am.)_

“Merlin’s breath, Peter,” his mother said, taking tiny sips of her still-steaming drink. “You can’t imagine how dreadful tea is back in Nice. I’ve had to switch over to espresso altogether.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, anxiously stirring his tea with a long almond biscuit.

His mother set the cup down on her saucer with a clank and looked across the table at him, eyes suddenly wide and a touch watery. “Peter. You don’t have to be sorry. _I’m_ sorry. I’m just…well…this is harder than I expected, I think.”

As he studied his mother’s expression, Peter came to an alarming realization.

She was nervous.

Not a little nervous, like he always was the day of a Potions exam, or on midnight snack runs with the boys. Terribly, catastrophically nervous. The kind of nervous where she had to pretend she wasn’t nervous to anyone. Especially herself.

Peter knew that nervousness well. He just never realized his mother might know it too.

And he realized that, as angry as he still was, he missed her. He wanted her back in his life. He wanted her to love him again.

“I should have written you back sooner,” Peter murmured. It was half an apology, half a simple fact. “I was afraid you weren’t going to be here.”

“Of course I was going to be here,” his mother said, gently touching his hand. “Even if I was halfway back from London, if Ringo tapped on the window of my traincar, I would be apparating back the instant I came to a stop. I wouldn’t miss the chance to see you for anything. You’re my little glowworm.”

_(Liar.)_

Peter jerked his hand away, pretending he didn’t see the hurt in his mother’s eyes. “You’ve missed every chance to see me since I was 11,” he said, looking away from her. “Showing up for one summer afternoon years later hardly counts.”

“You’re right.” His mother’s voice had gone flat. “What I did to you, Peter… I know it hurt you, but I thought it was the best thing to — no, that’s not true. I thought it was the _only_ thing I could do. The only way that I could leave your father without causing you pain.

“And I was wrong, Peter. It’s hard to admit when you’re wrong, no matter how old you are. But I was wrong to think my leaving would hurt you any less just because you were away at school. And I was wrong not to tell you what was happening until it was too late for you to say anything about it. If I could change what I did, I would — in a heartbeat. But all I can do now is ask you to give me another chance.”

Peter glanced at his mum out of the corner of his eye. She was fidgeting with the silver band around her ring finger. She used to do the same thing with her wedding ring when she was upset.

“I’ve made mistakes too,” Peter said. “I didn’t write back to you for months after that first letter, just because I was angry, and then I did the same thing again when you invited me to meet.”

“You’re allowed to be angry, Peter.”

_(Yeah, right.)_

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he said. “First you just want my forgiveness, then when I finally write you back, you spend every letter talking about how wonderful your new life is. What am I supposed to write back? ‘Gee, Mum, that’s great, but also: Why did you abandon me?”

His mother flinched, but Peter kept going.

“Don’t worry, it’s not like Dad’s any better. ‘Least you only wrote me one letter at first. He kept sending me notes week after week, with records attached like bribes, talking to me as if nothing was wrong, waiting for me to finally give in. And now he just pretends like everything’s fine. Treats me like I’m his flatmate, not his son. Takes me to concerts and then ditches me to go have secret meetings with his sleazy clients, leaves me here alone so he can go off to the Continent and supervise shipments personally—”

His mother grabbed his arm, stopping Peter in his tracks.

“What did you just say?”

“He’s not here,” Peter replied. “That’s half why I was out visiting Remus; he’s been gone since—”

“No, not that,” his mother replied. Her face was half terror, half rage. “He took you with? To a meeting with…”

“Well not exactly,” Peter said. “It was the Zeppelin concert, over Christmas. And I wasn’t supposed to be at that part. He left me alone for a couple of minutes and I got bored and found him in a back room with his boss. They were talking about the deal, and then they gave them both a bunch of money. It wasn’t like he meant me to see that.”

“I’m not upset about you _seeing_ it, Peter, I’m upset about—”

_(What does she keep not saying?)_

“Dammit, this is exactly what I was afraid of.” His mother bit her lip, and her right hand was back to worrying that ring again.

“What is?”

“You don’t need to know that,” she snapped. “We agreed this was never going to touch you. That’s why…the only reason I didn’t just take you with me, Peter, is because you weren’t supposed to be around this.”

“Around what?” Peter said. “I’m so sick of nobody telling me anything. You won’t tell me why you left Dad. Dad won’t tell me what he keeps doing for his side job. And now you won’t tell me either, even though you’re furious at him about it.”

“You’re absolutely right I’m furious,” his mother said. “If I thought I could do it without causing an international incident, I’d be taking you back to Nice with me.”

_(Away from Remus, and James, and Sirius? Not a chance.)_

_“_ You could try,” Peter said, realizing his right hand had somehow slipped down under the table and into the pocket with his wand. His mother’s eyes widened slightly, but if she was more surprised than that, it didn’t show in her voice.

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” she said simply. “Believe me, if you wanted to go, I’d risk your father and the international incident both.”

“Well I don’t.” Peter made his voice as cold as he could manage. “I have a life here. If you wanted to be a part of it, you could have stayed.”

He realized in an instant that he’d pushed the wrong button — for a moment, he could see his mother wavering between reaching across the table to slap him and storming out of the cafe. She chose neither, thankfully, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath.

“Peter,” she finally said. “I know I have no right to tell you what to do. I said that to you right from the start — I was the one who left, and I was the one who gave up those rights so that I could be free. But I need you to understand something.

“I didn’t leave your father to be with Bertie. I left your father, and you, and everyone I’ve ever known and loved, because I could no longer be a silent party to your father’s work. I dare not try to stop it, or expose it. But I will not stand by and let you blindly stumble into it.

“So please, Peter, take my advice: Be careful to trust your father too deeply. He believes in following his thoughts wherever they take him. Regardless of everything and everyone else. And when he starts bringing you down a path you don’t want to follow — the only option left is to burn your whole life down and start over. I don’t want that for you. It’s more painful than you could dream.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. His mother had never spoken like this to him, ever. He’d known there had to be a reason why she left, but he expected it to be about his parents’ relationship, or the affair. Not…whatever all this was.

His mother stood up abruptly. “Peter, I think I need a moment,” she said. “But when I get back, we will talk about anything you like, alright?”

_(Anything except this, you mean.)_

“Of course,” Peter said quietly.

His mum slid out of the booth and went back toward the ladies’ toilet. Peter just sat there, staring into the dregs of his tea.

_(I could get up and leave. Get back on the train, head home. Head anywhere I want, come to think of it. Anywhere except here. It’d serve her right, being the one left behind this time.)_

He wanted to do it, truly. But he couldn’t find the courage.

So instead, when she came back, Peter told his mum about his fortnight in Wiltshire. He told her about how Remus and James were in a fight and about losing house points for next year (though he did skip some details, of course). Everything about Professor Egg, even the worst of it. He told her how Sirius snored and that Daisy Mandel thought he was this Potions genius for no reason and detailed each one of the secret passageways they’d found in the last two years.

And when they finally said their goodbyes back at the Underground station, he told her he was glad to have seen her. He almost believed it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the proper introduction of Remus's parents and the re-introduction of Peter's mother - who may not be falling out of the story quite yet. Sirius and James's parents are up next in the next two chapters. Trust me, Walburga does not get nicer in person.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and get ready to hold onto your hats next week! We've reached the beginning of the end and things are only going to get more intense for the Marauders from here!


	12. Devil in Her Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius's summer at home is already off to a poor start. But once he gets to Bellatrix's wedding, it's going to get worse. Much, much worse.

Sirius still didn’t truly know how Regulus had heard about what happened in the Cavern. But he had a good guess. The other prefect who’d taken them to McGonagall’s office had been a Slytherin. She’d probably recognized Sirius and gone straight back to the dungeons to blab to everyone. Regulus was so wrapped in with the popular Death Eaters-in-training, he probably heard it firsthand.

What he still couldn’t understand was why his mother was so upset.

If anything, he figured Walburga would have been thrilled at the prospect of Sirius losing Gryffindor some house points before the year even began. Not so. She’d exploded when Regulus “let it slip” at dinner his second night back, throwing tureens and goblets across the room with her bare hands. Sirius considered himself lucky that he was only banished to his room for a week — not longer, and without any flatware finding its way thrown in his direction.

And even once his time of punishment ended — heralded by wrinkly old Kreacher popping into his room without the customary tray of inedible food to tell him that “the lovely mistress sets you free and bids you to fetch your own lunch henceforth” — his mother had barely spoken to him. Which was fine, in a certain sense, but it was terribly lonely. After all, his father had barely spent more than a hundred words on him last summer, and Regulus only talked to him with that sneering tone he’d learned from the older boys now. Given their agreement in the fall, Sirius thought he’d have been able to at least count on _arguing_ with Walburga off and on.

The long and short of it all was this: Coming home for the summer had been even worse than he’d expected.

“Stop squirming,” snapped the grizzled seamstress studying him from beside the mirror as a floating piece of measuring tape snaked its way up his inseam.

“I told you, Augusta,” his mother said, scarcely looking up from the book she was reading across the room. “He’s even more willful now than he was last year.”

Sirius was having a hard time not imagining what either his mother or Mistress Tattings’s faces would look like if he grabbed this piece of tape and wrapped it around their necks.

“Truly a shame,” Tattings said. “Truly, truly a shame. Why don’t you send him to Durmstrang next year? I know you wanted Regulus close, but—”

“Oh, I think it’s too late now.”

Sirius tried not to let his relief show.

“I can’t imagine we’d get through the summer if I even made the suggestion,” his mother continued. “And at least we’re not throwing away money to send him to Hogwarts.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Tattings said, looking over at a piece of parchment on which Sirius could see his measurements being written down.

She suddenly looked up as if she’d just remembered something, though Sirius would be willing to bet she hadn’t. “At least my dear Lucy has been doing well for herself. Perhaps you heard the Yaxley boy has been courting her?”

“Yes,” Walburga said simply, lips pursed. Sirius hadn’t heard her mention anything about it since he’d been home, but he could imagine his mother’s opinion of the subject. Corban Yaxley was the heir to one of the few pureblood families that rivaled their own in prestige. Lucy Tattings was the daughter of a seamstress who’d scraped together enough galleons a decade ago to open a boutique with an equally lower-class bookkeeper.

A tremendously successful seamstress, to be sure. But that would only make it worse, in some ways.

“I expect you’ll see them both at the wedding,” Tattings continued, either not noticing or ignoring his mother’s sudden change in demeanor. “Lucy told me just the other day he’s been promoted at the Ministry.”

“I heard. An investigator, already, for Magical Law Enforcement. He has a bright future ahead of him.”

“He does,” Tattings replied. “No matter which way things shake out.”

“Indeed,” his mother replied. She tightened her lips, the way she always did when the war came up.

“All right,” Tattings said, getting up to her feet and waving her wand to make the measuring tape coil back up on her sewing table. “We should be just about done, Master Black. Walburga, should we have him try on a few fashions, or—”

“Not necessary,” his mother replied, with a wave of her hand. “The same style as the ones you made Regulus over Easter, if you would. Despite everything, I think a unified look is best.”

Tattings nodded wordlessly, and then began rummaging through stacks of parchment. “I think, then, I should be able to make the alterations on his existing robes. He hasn’t grown much since you brought him in two summers ago — I think we’ll just have to let out some of the seams and hems I put in the last time. But I’m glad he was able to join us in person. Always makes alterations so much easier.”

Well, Sirius was glad _someone_ was happy that he was in London this summer.

“Very well. I’ll send Kreacher over with the robes once we return home.” His mother closed her book with a snap and tucked it within her handbag as she stood, a frown on her face. “Perhaps if you hadn’t spent your year at Hogwarts eating nothing but sweets, Sirius, Mistress Tattings wouldn’t have to spend so much time tailoring your dress robes.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Walburga dear. Boys his age, you always expect to change the last set of measurements, one way or another.”

Sirius didn’t say anything. He could tell, by now, when his mother’s comments required a response, and when they were simply tailored to wound.

“Well, just be sure you have them done by the end of the week,” Walburga replied, suddenly a glacier. “I would hate to have to put less-than-pristine workmanship on display for all your best clients.”

Augusta Tattings went slack-jawed, but Sirius didn’t have the opportunity to admire it long before Walburga had him by the arm and was whisking him out the door. He only took three steps beyond the threshold of Twilfitt and Tattings before he was suddenly knocked out of sync with the shops and cobblestones of Diagon Alley, whisked sidelong into nothingness.

And then he was back home, in the drawing room, wrenching his arm out of his mother’s grasp.

“Bloody dragon spoor,” he cursed, trying not to vomit all over his great-great-aunt’s yeti-fur rug.

“Language,” his mother said, though her heart clearly wasn’t in it. “I don’t appreciate your moaning and groaning every time we Apparate in and out of this home.”

“Well, maybe next time we could take the Floo,” Sirius said, trying to swallow. “Or at least Apparate onto the front steps so I’m breathing some fresh air for a moment.”

“This is my home,” his mother said, already moving out of the room, “and I’ll Apparate wherever I like in it. Now go up to your room before you say something foolish to draw my attention.”

Sirius didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried out to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time all the way up.

Regulus was just leaving his room as he reached the top of the stairs, a bundle in his hand.

“Good, you’re already here,” he said. “Saves me the trouble of running this rubbish you got in the owl post downstairs.”

“Is there a letter?” Sirius hurried over and snatched the papers out of his brother’s hand — but before he could even reply, he could see his hopes were dashed.

“Just a bunch of magazines,” Regulus said, going back into his room. “You’re lucky that Dad only saw the comics on top and not the Muggle stuff underneath. You get snippy when you’re not allowed to have dinner.”

Regulus ended the longest conversation they’d had this week by slamming the door right in his face.

Sirius flipped through the magazines as he went into his own room — _Martin Miggs, NME, Sounds_ — and tossed them all onto his desk without looking at them before flopping down into bed.

What he’d really been hoping for was a letter from Remus and Peter. He had written them one, apologizing for what he’d said on the train, a couple of days after getting back to Grimmauld Place. Nothing.

It’s not like he expected everything to be fixed between them. It just would have been nice to have a reminder that there was a world outside the dark, tortured halls of this place that was supposed to be his home.

* * *

“I think, Regulus, we should discuss our plans for tomorrow night’s event.”

Sirius raised his eyes from his dinner to his mother for the first time since sitting down at the table. She delicately wiped a bit of lamb pie from her lips with a napkin, then tossed it to the side, into the waiting hands of a house-elf who had already placed a clean one beside her plate.

“Erm, what do you mean?” Regulus’s eyes darted back and forth between Walburga and Orion, the latter of whom seemed to be focusing intently on the rest of his dinner. That wouldn’t be true, of course, but his father never interrupted their mother. Not unless it was to administer punishment.

“At Bella’s wedding, dear.” His mother made a quick signal and her bowl vanished with a crack, allowing her to place her hands on the table and lean forward. “Surely you didn’t expect this to merely be a social occasion for you?”

“I mean…” Regulus looked ill, now. “I know we’ll have to chat with Bella, and her family, and the Lestranges. But I was thinking I’d spend most of the time with my friends? Fred is still off in Albania, but Alecto is coming with her family, and Liam was going to try to come with her since his parents didn’t get—”

“Of course you can visit with your friends a little, Regulus. But there are _other_ people who are going to be there. People it’s much more important for you to introduce yourself to.”

“Like who?” Regulus looked as disgusted as Sirius felt. It was nice to imagine he and his brother might actually agree that his mother’s efforts to maintain their social status were particularly shameless this time around.

But he probably shouldn’t be that generous.

“Regulus,” his mother said. “We talked about this. You’re only 12 now, but someday, you will be a young man, representing the Noble House of Black out in the world. It is important that people like Abraxas Malfoy, Augustus Rookwood, Caius Rosier—”

“Ugh, is that Evan’s dad?” Regulus said. “If he’s anything like his kid, I am _not_ interested. He’s always trying to order me around like he’s 10 years older than me, not 10 months.”

Wrong thing to say.

“It _is_ Evan Rosier’s father,” Walburga said, “and what you are _interested_ in doing is not up for discussion. Caius Rosier is the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Augustus Rookwood has become an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. And the only reason Abraxas Malfoy isn’t the Minster for Magic right now is because he doesn’t _want_ to be. These men can ensure our family remains one of the great pureblood lines of Britain. Or ensure you end up a pariah, cast out of pureblood society and consigning our name to the history books.”

“Yikes, Reg, you’d better listen to Mum,” Sirius said, carving off another piece of pie. “I know I’m making it look terribly glamorous, but there’s only room for one pariah in this house.”

To Sirius’s surprise, his mother was actually speechless for once. But he’d made his father look up from his dinner, and pick his wand up almost lazily.

“ _Evanesco_.”

Sirius’s plate, pie, and fork vanished, his teeth clacking together on a bit of lamb that wasn’t there anymore.

“Bloody hell—”

“At breakfast,” Orion said, already looking away from Sirius again, “perhaps you’ll be hungry enough to focus on eating the meal we’ve so generously provided you. Instead of trying to impress the three of us with your general impudence.”

A smile slithered across his mother’s face, and she went back to lecturing Regulus like nothing had happened. “After the wedding, if you’d like, we’ll have Alecto and Alfred and perhaps even Liam over for tea and dinner. But this needs to take precedence, Regulus. Our family depends on you.”

Sirius could see that Regulus wasn’t really listening to Walburga. He was looking straight across the table back at him, biting the corner of his lip. He’d done that ever since he was little, when he was about to do or say something he wasn’t sure about. Something he was afraid to do.

And for the tiniest second, Sirius had hope.

Then it was gone. “Well, I think Fred’s family returns from Albania at the end of next week,” Regulus said, tearing his eyes away from Sirius to look back at their mother. “So I’ll send him and the others an owl after dinner. See if the following week makes sense.”

Stomach grumbling, Sirius pushed his chair back with a screech, throwing his napkin down on the table and storming out of the dining room.

Not one of the other three made a move to follow him.

* * *

Bellatrix may have been a horrible, terrible monster of a person, but at least her choice of wedding venue had proved his cousin had some taste.

Sirius had expected the wedding to take place at the Lestrange’s estate, a dreary manor in Bristol that he’d had the misfortune of visiting once for a funeral. From what he could remember, it wasn’t the sort of place where he anticipated the decor to be any different for a wedding.

But much to his surprise, when he and his family stepped through the acid-green Floo flames, Sirius found himself in a brightly lit room, half-filled with other pureblood families talking quietly to each other.

“Come along,” his mother said, adjusting the black hat on top of her head and pulling him and Regulus away from the hearth. “The ceremony shall be beginning shortly upstairs.”

“Where are we?” Sirius asked.

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but his mother apparently willing to indulge him today. “Westminster. Bella and Rodolphus wanted a wedding in the city, for some reason, so the hall is ours.”

“Cool,” Regulus said, grinning. “We have enough time to look around before the ceremony.”

“No,” his mother said definitively, leading them into the entrance hall. “As soon as we find your uncle, we’re — oh.”

Sirius’s face lit up as he caught sight of the only person he had been hoping to see here, in exactly as incongruous a position as he’d anticipated. His Uncle Alphard was lounging in a large velvet green armchair he’d conjured in the middle of the entrance hall, along with a matching tufted ottoman for his feet. Sirius couldn’t tell if the glares he was getting from the other wizards and witches walking past were due to the chair, his haphazardly splayed limbs, the ivory-white dress robe he’d worn, or the tune he was loudly whistling — but he loved every bit of it.

“Uncle Al!” He dashed ahead of his family, knowing he looked like a little kid and not really caring, to envelop his uncle in a hug the instant he stepped out of the chair.

“Sirius!” His mother was there a moment after, pulling him back with a quick tug at his left arm. “Stop acting like a common street urchin. And _what_ , dear brother, are you wearing?”

“Aren’t you supposed to wear white to these things?” Alphard replied, flashing an impish grin as he vanished the chair behind his back. Now that he was standing up, the robes looked even more ridiculous — and impressive — on his lanky, tall frame. “I could have sworn I read that somewhere.”

“Merlin’s breath, you’re incorrigible.” Walburga gave Alphard the stiffest kiss on the cheek Sirius could imagine before stepping over to stand beside his father again. “Are you going to be embarrassing us for the entirety of the evening, or will you be adopting more…appropriate attire?”

“Oh, I think I’ve scandalized enough of our distant relatives,” Alphard said. He waved his wand over his head, and his robes began to turn midnight blue inch by inch, colour trickling down from his shoulders to his feet like it was being dyed on the spot. “Sorry to hear things didn’t work out with your pals, Sirius. I’d have liked the opportunity to get out west; I haven’t been since—”

“Regulus,” his mother interrupted. “You haven’t seen your uncle since last summer. You should tell him how you’re finding Slytherin House.”

From the look of Regulus’s face, he would have liked nothing less. Sirius had always gotten along best with their Uncle Al, Regulus with their Uncle Cygnus. But the feeling wasn’t mutual; Alphard grinned as he swept past Sirius to ruffle Regulus’s impeccably coiffed hair.

“I’d almost forgotten,” Alphard said, bending down to Regulus’s level. “With your brother breaking the family tradition, for all I knew you might have been in Hufflepuff this year. Tell me all about it, little guy.”

Alphard started walking down the hall with Regulus, completely ignoring Walburga’s scandalized whispers to Orion about the notion that her darling Regulus might have been in _Hufflepuff_. But as he passed her, he turned slightly to look at Sirius, mouthing “we’ll talk later” as he went by.

“Let it alone,” his father said shortly to his mother. “It’s one afternoon. You know he’s only doing this because it gets under your skin.”

“He’s been getting under my skin for the past 42 years,” she said, looking in a mirror to adjust her pillbox hat and straighten the topaz brooch at her neck. “If nothing else, you’d hope eventually he’d grow bored. Come along, Sirius.”

His parents began to follow Alphard down the hall, leaving him alone a moment, ignored by all the other guests.

There was a set of double doors only a few paces away, windows letting in bright July sunshine. He could just walk straight through them, out into the summer day, onto the streets of Westminster, vanish into the city. His parents probably won’t even start looking for him until after they had a piece of wedding cake.

But he’d promised to come to this wedding, stand with the rest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and smile as falsely as he could stomach about the marriage of Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, in exchange for a scrap of his mother’s love again.

As he turned and headed down the hall, it occurred to Sirius that he might not have made the best bargain.

* * *

Upstairs, locked in a toilet, Sirius was having the worst time concentrating on changing the color of his cravat.

“Bloody stupid— _Colovaria, Colovaria!”_

So far, he’d only gotten the green tie to dapple slightly, so it looked like his neck had contracted dragon pox. But however he’d pronounced the charm or waved his wand the last time seemed to do the trick. As he watched in the mirror, the green color of the fabric seemed to melt away, replaced by the perfect shade of red.

“Thanks for the idea, Uncle Al,” he said to himself, adjusting the knot slightly so it was snug-but-not-too snug under his neck. He was probably the only Gryffindor at this whole bloody wedding; he needed to do something to keep from blending in completely with everyone else here.

Not that that’d be too terribly difficult. There were about a dozen and a half pureblood kids under 15 here, and not a one of them had any interest in getting anywhere near him. At least not to socialize. Based on the way they’d been looking at him across the chapel, Mulciber and Rosier’s crew might try to hex him into one of the chandeliers if they crossed paths during a dull moment.

But they hadn’t said anything except a polite hello as Sirius followed his family in, shuffling into a pew a row behind his Aunt Druella, whose excitement over the impending nuptials seemed to be muted by her attempts to quell the bickering between Sirius’s increasingly withered grandparents, Pollux and Irma, and his great-gran Violetta, who was sharper, crueler and louder than either of them. It was a relief when Druella finally snapped and cast a Silencing Charm on the three of them, threatening to do worse if they didn’t sit still.

Even better, the ceremony was mercifully brief. Rodolphus was chatting for a few more minutes with the minister, a short, round man with wisps of hair falling in tufts from the top of his head, before moving to the front of the room, where his brother Rabastan was already waiting. Then the doors behind them opened with a bang, and Bellatrix was striding forth with a little laugh, practically dragging her father by the arm down the aisle instead of the other way around.

Sirius had never liked a single thing about his cousin Bellatrix, but he might have liked her wedding dress — though the line between admiration and horror was exceptionally thin. Unlike her bridesmaids (and his Uncle Al), she’d skipped traditional white. She was instead striding toward Rodolphus in a black and grey gown that twitched and twirled with every step.

On a mannequin, Sirius would have had no choice but to call the dress beautiful, but somehow Bellatrix had taken all the elements he liked best and made them seem almost sinister. Her bodice was traced with delicate tree branches snaking upward from a high waistline, stark in their barrenness. As she got closer, Sirius realized the dress’s color was actually changing as she moved, never lightening above the color of London fog. The ruffles of tulle at the very bottom were the only truly white element of the dress, and yet they only emphasized all that above — like the handful of pure white clouds hanging low that made the storm clouds above appear all the more menacing by contrast.

It fit his cousin to a T. Sirius was almost jealous to see someone who knew themselves so well, and wasn’t afraid to show it.

The other nice thing about the dress was that he spent enough time paying attention to it that was a legitimate surprise when the chapel burst into applause, and Bellatrix leant in to give Rodolphus a chaste kiss on the lips before they stepped down the center aisle. For all his dread, the wedding had been relatively painless.

He just had to hope the reception went as well.

Sirius poked his head out of the toilet, glad not to see Mulciber or Rosier lurking. There was still a little bit of time in the cocktail hour before dinner began, and while the grown-ups were drinking and trying to drop the best bon mots, he strongly expected one or both of them would be looking for some mischief to get into. He did not want to be that mischief.

From where he was standing, Sirius could hear that people were still talking in the entrance hall, so he went the other way, further into the registry. After trying a few doors to discover nothing but empty offices, he turned a corner and found himself stepping out onto a thin balcony that stretched all around the dining room. He stepped to the edge, looking down at the men and women adjusting china and table decor below, and the small handful of guests who had entered early.

“Rude, don’t you think? Coming in before the place settings are even finished?”

Sirius nearly jumped over the rail at the sound of his uncle’s voice. But when he turned to look, there was already an apology on Alphard’s face.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, coming to stand next to Sirius.

“It’s fine,” Sirius replied. “This whole wedding’s just got me feeling…”

“What, you worried you’ll die an old maid, like me?”

Sirius giggled. “Come on, you’re not that old, Uncle Al.”

“I’m old enough to know the punchline to that tired joke is supposed to be that I’m no maid,” he said, grinning down at Sirius, “though I guess I’m also young enough not to know better than to tell a teenager how to properly deliver somewhat-dirty jokes.”

“Eh, my parents wouldn’t care anyway,” Sirius said. “I mean, what dirty joke could be worse than walking up to someone at this wedding and saying ‘Hey, remember how I’m in Gryffindor?’”

Alphard barked with laughter, shaking his head back and forth. “I suppose you’re right. This crowd… Well, let’s just say there’s a reason I don’t show up often, and don’t take things too seriously when I do.”

“How can you stand it all?” Sirius asked. “I don’t remember you ever being any different than you are, but it’s not like your personality turned on a sickle 10, 15 years ago, right? You grew up with my mum, and Uncle Cygnus. And you just… what, put up with it all, year after year?”

“Well, as hard as this is to believe,” his uncle said, “people do change, Sirius. But not just me. We all did, a little bit at a time. Cygnus got prouder. I got stranger. Walburga got colder. But before all that happened, we were teenagers too, looking out at the world our parents built and wondering how they could justify it to themselves.”

“So, what — you just grew up and decided the snooty, mean pureblood life wasn’t so bad after all?”

“I grew up and decided it wasn’t for me,” Alphard said. “And then I moved on with my life. Someday you’ll get to do the same, if you want.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Sirius said. His hands were gripping the railing so tight they had started to hurt white at the knuckles. “I want to tear it apart. I want to know that nobody else is ever going to get cut out of their family just because they ended up in the wrong Hogwarts house.”

He felt Alphard’s hand touch him gently on the shoulder. “You can’t change the whole world, Sirius. It’s too big for that.”

“Tell that to all of them,” Sirius said, gesturing down at the dining room, finally starting to fill in. “There’s a war going on, you know. Most of the people here don’t think the world they have is bad enough; they want to make it worse.”

“That is true,” Alphard said. “I won’t dispute that. But there’s a big difference between wanting to change the world and succeeding. If nothing else — the more they pursue their ideals, the more idealists will stand up on the other side, to oppose them.”

Sirius was starting to have trouble following his uncle’s logic. He’d known Alphard for years; he’d assumed he was against the war. But the way he was talking, he didn’t seem for or against it — just apart from it, as if he could observe it from the safe distance of a first-floor balcony.

“If you really do want to change the world,” Alphard continued, “make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons, Sirius. Your parents have been cruel to you; I won’t deny that. But you can’t live your whole life just trying to do the opposite of what they did. That only gives them power over you all over again.”

“So what, then?” he asked. “I’m just supposed to grow up and pretend none of this ever happened? Or treat it all like some sort of learning experience?”

Alphard opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by a sudden sharp shout.

“Sirius, get down here now!”

They both looked down to see Walburga glaring up at them, face red with fury. She must have been looking for him for some time, to make a scene out of finally finding him.

“Your brother and father are waiting out in the hall. I told you to stay nearby, since we were going to take a family photo before dinner. I see you’ve chosen to ignore that command.”

Sure enough, there was a man with a camera lingering in the doorway, though to Sirius’s eye he looked as though he would be just as happy to not take the picture if it meant Walburga would leave him alone.

“Better get downstairs, lad,” Alphard said, nudging Sirius with his shoulder. “You know how your mum can get.”

“Don’t I, though?” Sirius took a deep breath, to steady his nerves. “Are you sitting with us, for dinner?”

“Sorry,” Alphard said. “I’m on the other side of the hall. Singles table. Cygnus is playacting like he’s in your grandfather’s shoes, trying to get me married off all over again. You think he’d remember the series of spectacular failures we all got to experience in the ‘50s before Papa gave up the ghost.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it later,” Sirius said, heading off to the stairs on his own. “Don’t leave me all alone with the rest of you Slytherins.”

Alphard smiled sadly as he watched Sirius go. “I’ll do my best, dear boy.”

* * *

“How much longer is this bloody thing going to last?”

“Language,” Walburga said. She clearly meant it this time around; the word came with a hard smack of Sirius's knuckles. “I’d hoped, with all the food you shoveled into that mouth during dinner, it might be too exhausted to complain much afterward.”

Sirius was tired, alright, but it wasn’t from eating what was admittedly a delicious supper. Cygnus, Rodolphus, and Rabastan had given a trio of increasingly boring speeches one after the other, and just when he thought his misery was over, Bellatrix had popped up to give her own speech, more grandiose than the other three combined — and effectively a call to arms to join her beloved Death Eaters too, to add insult to injury.

“Marvelous speeches all,” she began, popping to her feet the instant Rabastan sat down, “delivered to the many marvelous people who have joined us today. I know you are here to celebrate my union with Rodolphus, but I hope we share more in common than bloodlines, or social connections.

“In this room, together, we are apart from the rest of the wizarding world. We can speak more freely about the things that matter, the actions we must take once we leave this place.

“It is no surprise to you, I hope, to learn there is a festering sore in our community. It has been growing for years, unchecked. It is the insipid idea that each wizard is like every other being on this planet. That pureblood lineage means nothing. That we do not have power and dominion over every Muggle or magical creature. That a Mudblood can steal titles and positions from their rightful owners, all the way up to the top of the Ministry of Magic!”

There was some applause at that, Sirius noted, and he saw a white-haired man sitting one table over next to Narcissa’s fiancé Lucius Malfoy bow his head slightly at the others sitting nearby.

“Every time a champion rises to right this wrong — to bring us back to our position of shadowy authority over our lessers — they are opposed, and eventually prevented from achieving their aims. Think of Salazar Slytherin, whose bold ambitions were checked by his three short-sighted collaborators. The Dark Lady Phoebe, whose efforts to make the Continent a safe haven for her and her followers ended as her blood was spilled on the cobblestones of Rome. Gellert Grindelwald, now a shining star trapped in a cold high tower, but once the greatest champion of the greatest good.

“Now, we are led by another great champion — a wizard who has become more than a man. And while Rodolphus and I have been given leave for this evening of union, on the morrow we will rejoin him and the rest of his followers with newly revived spirits. For what else are we fighting for, than the ability of Britain’s pureblood families to unite, and take our place at the top of the world? What else is most proper to celebrate, whenever we can?

“So be merry tonight, and enjoy this wonderful hall we have claimed for the night. Tomorrow, we must all get back to the great work of reclaiming our birthrights.”

And to Sirius’s horror, the room burst into applause at all that, cheering and clinking glasses as Rodolphus gave his bride a tiny peck on the lips.

“When does the dancing start?” Regulus said. Poor sod had been trying to get some alone time with Alecto Carrow and his other friends all night. He clearly didn’t realize now wasn’t going to be the time for it either.

“They’ve got to turn over the room,” his mother said simply, “which means you and I are going for a stroll.”

“Why?” Regulus squirmed as Walburga pulled him out of his chair by the arm. “I already talked to Mr. Kingfisher. And Mr. Malfoy. _And_ that horrible woman from the Improper Use of Magic Office. You told me I could hang out with Alecto after—”

“After you were _done_ socializing with me,” his mother said, surveying the room. “And you are not done. Come. The Rosiers are about to get up, and if Caius gets any deeper into his scotch he’ll be useless the rest of the night.”

Regulus grudgingly stopped his protesting as their mother dragged him away, leaving Sirius and his father alone at the table together. But only for a moment. True to form, Orion finished the remainder of his wine, wiped his lips with his napkin, and then gracefully got up from the table, drifting over to Cygnus’s table without so much as a word to Sirius.

He supposed he should be thankful that his father hated him. Look what he and Walburga were doing to the son they liked.

At a loss, Sirius got up from the table, looking around for Alphard. He could see the table where he’d been seated during dinner, but he’d vanished. Not that he was alone in that. Half the hall seemed empty, and the entire bridal party was nowhere to be seen.

“If I was Alphard,” Sirius muttered to himself, “where would I be?”

A quick survey of the balcony above revealed no Uncle Al. But that was the right sort of place. If Alphard was trying to get away from people, he would go somewhere the rest of the party would never stumble upon.

There was a thin hallway a few tables away, through which Sirius had seen waiters going in and out. It was the sort of avenue Alphard might go exploring, if he was suitably bored. And if nothing else, if he ended up in the kitchen, he might be able to find something sweet other than Bellatrix’s hideous looking wedding cake to eat.

The hallway did seem to lead to the kitchen, but it continued beyond that, with more offshoot corridors leading into other parts of the registry office. Sirius whiled away a good 10, 15 minutes in an unlocked office, playing with the silly-looking Muggle stamps and inkpads, and looking at the strange items in drawers. He hoped the unknown office drone whose desk he was raiding didn’t mind the loss of a few ballpoint pens — he was sick of spilling his inkpot practically every time he had to write an essay longer than eight inches.

But there was only so much fun to be had in an abandoned office, so Sirius found himself headed back toward the ballroom before long. He was fully expecting the rest of the night to be boring, too, but maybe Bellatrix was a secret fan of The Hobgoblins or something. It was hard to imagine Stubby Boardman booking a Death Eater gig, though, considering—

“Didn’t I tell you that this was going to be a good idea?”

His cousin’s voice, wicked and crisp, froze Sirius in his tracks.

“I have to say, dear Bella, that I was a bit skeptical. But I think the filthy Muggles have acquitted themselves quite well.”

A handful of people laughed at that, cruel and loud, but as he looked around, Sirius realized not a one of them were in the hallway with him. The sound was coming through the ajar kitchen door behind him, opaque except for a small porthole near the top.

Sirius knew he should go back to the party. Pretend he hadn’t heard any of this.

Instead, he crept closer to the door, peering through the opening to see what was within.

His cousin Bellatrix was there, as he’d guessed. So was her new husband and the rest of their wedding party. He immediately recognized Narcissa, of course, with Lucius Malfoy’s arm wrapped securely around her waist, and Rabastan, standing beside his brother. The other witch he didn’t know personally, though she didn’t look any friendlier than his cousins.

They weren’t the only people in the room. There were two others at the sink, washing and drying the huge stack of dishes left over from dinner, but they weren’t dressed like the servants Sirius had seen earlier in the evening. The man was wearing a nice if disheveled tuxedo, with the arms rolled up as far as they could be to keep them out of the soapy dishwater. And the woman…

The woman was wearing a tattered, stained wedding dress.

“For Muggles, they had good taste,” the witch Sirius didn’t know said. “Your parents’ manor is dreadfully stuffy, Roddy.”

“Well, if you like it so much, Venetia,” Rodolphus said, “we could always give this registry to you as a prize once we’ve won the war. If you actually supplicate yourself to the Dark Lord, as requested, of course.”

The witch reddened, and moved to shout in Lestrange’s face. “I’ve already been helping your girl out, haven’t I? Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Not when the only reason you’re here at this wedding instead of Laurel or Calamity is because you weren’t too blitzed to throw up a Shield Charm when the ‘Muggles’ you were trying to kill whipped out wands,” he sneered back.

“Didn’t Calamity get actually get offed by the actual Muggle you were trying to kill?” Rabastan said.

“That was Laurel,” Narcissa answered. There was a slight quiver to her voice, and Sirius saw Lucius’s arm tighten at her side. She went rail-stiff, as if he’d cast a Freezing Charm on her.

“Good riddance,” Bellatrix said, turning to look at her reflection in one of the stainless-steel refrigerators and fuss with her hair. “If Pritchers and Hornby could get themselves killed by two ancient blood traitors and a monkey with a shotgun, they’d hardly have been any use to us going forward. And besides — I really only needed two of you to hold my train anyway.”

Sirius tried to put all of the pieces together as quickly as he could. He’d known Bellatrix was cruel, of course — he had a scar or two to prove it — but he hadn’t suspected that she’d _killed_ anyone, even despite that insane speech she’d given after dinner. In his mind, she was just his horrible cousin, not a murderer. Or worse…

He suddenly realized there was steam rising from the top of the washbasin, and the Muggle man’s hands were lobster-red.

“What should we have our fellow happy couple do next, Bella dear?” Rodolphus said.

“Well, we’ve got a little bit of time before we need to go back in,” she replied, turning around to look them over. “And with all the wedding preparations, I didn’t get any target practice in this week…”

Before anyone else could respond, a tall man about Bellatrix’s age came in through the door on the opposite side of the room. “Hey, Rodolphus? Some of the Muggles out in the ballroom are starting to slip. I think you’re going to want to touch them up a bit.”

“Thank you, Yaxley,” Rodolphus said, pulling his wand out from the inside of his jacket. “You know, I’ve got to say, Imperius Curses seem much easier when you’re only casting one at a time.”

“Could I be of assistance, Rodolphus?” Malfoy said, stepping away from a seemingly surprised Narcissa.

Rodolphus studied him a moment, then replied, “Yes, Lucius. I believe you could. Come along with Yaxley and I; we’ve worked out a few tricks this afternoon.”

“Don’t be long, Rodolphus,” Bellatrix said, as the three of them started off. “We’ll be expected back soon.”

Rodolphus said something back, but Sirius never heard it — he was too busy trying not to scream in response to the sudden tug on his arm.

“Merlin’s ghost, Sirius, calm down,” his brother said, talking at full volume. “What are you doing—”

“Shut up, Regulus,” Sirius hissed. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Escaping, briefly.” Mercifully, Regulus kept his voice down to match Sirius. “You would not believe the people Mother’s introducing me to.”

“I bet I would.” Sirius looked back at the gap in the doorway. Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Venetia had taken out their wands and started shooting sparks at the Muggle bride’s feet, forcing her to dance for them while her groom kept on washing dishes. “Come on. We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t go back into the dining room,” Regulus protested, as Sirius dragged him away. “Mum’ll find me right away. I told her I was going to the toilet and was planning on getting properly lost.”

“Too bad,” Sirius said, as they returned to the large, now-candlelit room. “You need to help me find Uncle Al.”

“He’s gone.”

“What?” Sirius wheeled around to glare at Regulus. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“I mean, he might still be looking for you, I guess,” Regulus said. “But he came up to Mum and me like 20 minutes ago. Said he was going to head out in a bit, wanted to know where you’d gone off to. But he did say that if he didn’t catch you that I should pass on his regards…”

“Merlin’s hairy chin,” Sirius muttered. “He didn’t find me. I bet he’s gone. Shite.”

“What is the matter with you?” Regulus said, putting his hands on his hips. “Who were you spying on back there?”

Sirius looked around the room. There were too many grown-ups around — wizards and Imperiused Muggles alike. He grabbed Regulus’s arm again, pulling him into a corner.

“Bella,” he said. “And her new husband, and the whole bridal party.”

Regulus looked disgusted. “What were they all doing in the kitchen? They’re supposed to be coming out here in a minute to kick off the reception.”

“Well, they’ve found something much more interesting to occupy their time,” Sirius said. “You see all these waiters and waitresses walking around?”

“Uh, yeah.” Regulus had started to look at Sirius like he was daft. “Obviously I see them. What of it?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that we have waiters, Regulus? We’re wizards. We should have food magically appearing on plates, or a fleet of house-elves running around.”

“Well, weren’t there house-elves in the kitchen?”

“No,” Sirius said. “Just the bride and groom.”

“Right, Bellatrix and Rodolphus.”

“No. The Muggle bride and groom. They’ve been put under the Imperius Curse. So has everyone here.”

“Shut up,” Regulus said, crossing his arms. “No they have not.”

The last time Sirius was this furious with his brother… actually, there might never have been a moment Sirius was this furious with him.

“Regulus, I _saw_ them!” Sirius had to restrain himself from shouting, or forcibly grabbing and shaking Regulus. “I _heard_ them! Bella and Rodolphus were in the kitchen, and they had another bride and groom in there with them, washing dishes.”

“Why would the bride and groom of a different wedding be washing dishes in the kitchen with Bella?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Sirius said. “They wouldn’t. And it’s not like they were just forcing them to do it at wandpoint. They had this look to them — like they weren’t in control of anything.”

“Are you sure they weren’t just servants?”

“In a wedding dress? Besides, I heard Rodolphus say they were under Imperius Curses. Like, out loud.”

“Well, he must have been exaggerating,” Regulus said. “There’s no way Rodolphus would put anyone here under an Imperius Curse, much less a whole fleet of Muggles. There’s too many other people.”

“Exactly,” Sirius said. “There’s too many people who wouldn’t give a damn about Rodolphus committing one of the _Unforgivable Curses_ , especially if it was ‘just’ on Muggles. I mean, you heard Bella’s speech earlier. If she stood on a box in the middle of Diagon Alley and said all that, the Ministry of Magic would be there in 15 minutes or less. Every Ministry official I saw here was clapping as hard as most everybody else.”

“You know, Mother said you’d be dramatic the whole time you were here,” Regulus said, seeming to see Sirius in a new light. “I just thought she was being cruel, as ever. But maybe she’s right about you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You didn’t really see anything, Sirius. You saw a man and a woman washing dishes, but you didn’t hear Bella or Rodolphus or anyone perform the Imperius Curse on them. You just want to see the worst in everybody.”

“That’s not all I heard,” Sirius started, but Regulus was already stepping back.

“I’m going off to find Mother again,” Regulus said, voice almost as cold as hers. “Maybe you should go back to wandering around the halsl again. You certainly don’t seem like you’re going to enjoy yourself with the rest of us.”

“Regulus!”

His brother didn’t even turn around. He just slipped back into the crowd of wizards at the center of the room and started snaking his way through, to wherever Walburga was lurking.

Frantically, Sirius scanned the room, but there was not an ally to be found. If Alphard was still in the building, he wasn’t here, at least not anywhere he could see. He could always run up to the balcony again, to take a better look, but…

No, better face it. He was all alone. The only Gryffindor in a room full of Death Eaters, sympathetic purebloods, and idiots.

Figuring out whichever one of those his brother was would have to wait for another day.

If all of the Muggles in this hall were under the Imperius Curse —

No. Not if.

 _Since_ all the Muggles in this hall were under the Imperius Curse, Sirius was going to have to do something that could free them. Or at least get someone here who _could_ free them.

He sat down in a chair against the wall, putting his head in his hands as he racked his brain for an idea.

They were in the middle of Westminster, at the heart of London. He hadn’t been outside, so he didn’t have a clue exactly where they were — but he did know that Westminster was where the Ministry of Magic was located, and he was pretty sure there was also a Muggle government building or two nearby. If, all of a sudden, a large magical ruckus broke out, Ministry officials would have no choice but to show up and figure out what the cause was.

So that was his plan: Break the International Statute of Secrecy as flagrantly as possible.

Brilliant.

Sirius pulled his wand out of his robes and looked all around the room, running through every spell he knew — and some he only half-knew.

There were easily a hundred adult wizards and witches in this room, at least half of whom were immensely more talented than him. He needed spells that didn’t have physical manifestations, or people would be able to trace their path back to him as the origin point. He needed to cast more than one different kind of spell, in order to cause enough confusion that no one would think to just cast a counter-curse. And, of course, whatever he did needed to cause enough mayhem that it could be seen and heard from outside.

Best-case scenario: The Ministry showed up in five minutes, the newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange fled the scene, and Minister for Magic Eugenia Jenkins was so impressed she awarded him an Order of Merlin, First Class.

Worst-case: Bellatrix came back, took one look around the room, and killed him on the spot.

Somehow that option seemed way more likely than the Order of Merlin thing.

Swallowing to keep from being sick, Sirius looked around one last time to see if anyone was paying attention. Then he lifted his wand arm, pointing it straight toward the center of the room, where Bellatrix’s six-layer wedding cake was waiting to be carved.

If this didn’t work, he hoped he got to come back as a Gryffindor in his next life.

“ _Bombarda!”_

Sirius had never cast an Exploding Charm before, but he’d seen illustrations of it in Remus’s copy of _Charms of Defense and Deterrence_ , and it looked positively wicked.

If anything, the textbook was underselling the effect.

One moment, the centerpiece was standing proud as ever, six layers of violet and black frosting — then it was gone with a bang like a volcano, shards of fruitcake flying everywhere. The screams of unsuspecting guests were almost as loud, and Sirius watched as everyone in sight dropped to the floor.

He remembered to do the same an instant later. He hadn’t expected his first salvo to be quite so intense — if anything, he’d been hoping to draw everyone’s attention. He’d certainly achieved that, he supposed.

But he couldn’t leave it at that. At the end of his first year at Hogwarts, he’d found a lovely little spell to bug Regulus with all summer long. He just needed to make it a little louder.

“ _Cophonia!”_ he said, pointing his wand at one of the tables across the room. It suddenly began to screech like a dying radio, lost between stations. He cast the spell again and again, arcing it across the room from table to table. Anyone not on the floor already got there quickly, covering their ears.

For his next trick…

 _“Avifors!_ ”

As he started moving around the room in a half-crouch, Sirius whispered his transfiguration charm every chance he got, transforming random chairs into flocks of birds. This charm he’d learned in school, but he hadn’t anticipated how it would interact with his Squeaking Jinx. The sound drove the birds mad, and sent them whirling about the room while adding their own cries to the melee.

It gave the bolder wizards and witches something to aim at too. Suddenly, the air was lit up with spells in every color, and Sirius dropped all the way to the ground to keep any of them from hitting him. From above, he could hear the sound of windows shattering. Perfect.

He started crawling toward the exit to the main hall, casting _Avifors_ every chance he could. Once he got clear, he could try starting a couple fires closer to the outside windows. He’d have to come running back in eventually, if only to give himself an alibi, but he figured he’d wait until—

As he transfigured the chair ahead of him into a pack of sparrows, he suddenly saw Regulus across the room. He’d reached their mother. She was staring straight at him.

There was too much noise in the room for Sirius to hear what curse she shouted as she raised her wand, but he wasn’t staying to find out. It took only an instant for him to spring up into a dead run, and he didn’t look back at whatever had made that horrifying sound where he’d used to be.

None of the scenarios he’d run in his head had included his mother, he realized, and that was a gross miscalculation. He was only halfway down the hall when he heard her scream his name from behind, and he turned a corner just in time to dodge something crimson she’d fired his direction.

Sirius could have died laughing, if he were able to catch his breath. His mother had worked so hard to get him here, and boy, was she going to regret it.

Then again, so was he.

He’d turned away from the exterior exit to dodge the curse Walburga had slung his way, and he blew right past the stairwell without a second of hesitation too. There might have been more places to hide upstairs, but if his mother was keeping pace now she must have ditched her heels, which meant he’d never make it to the top before she caught up with him and knocked him all the way back down.

There was nowhere to hide down here, though. And he couldn’t count on the Ministry showing up before his mother finally connected with one of those spells. She might have been out of practice, but there was a reason there were three dueling trophies over their fireplace, and it wasn’t his father’s —

Fireplace!

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks and doubled back to the room he had just passed. Mercifully, the fireplace was still burning — his brain was so jumbled he wouldn’t be able to figure out a Fire-Making Charm with the textbook right in front of him.

He ran right up to the hearth and reached for the jar of Floo Powder on the mantel, frantically thinking about his options.

The obvious answer was to Floo straight to Remus’s. He knew that the Lupins had made sure to hook their house up to the Floo Network, because that was how James was supposed to visit before Remus had disinvited him. But a look out the window at the rising moon confirmed that it was too late. The moon was full, or too near full to tell. Remus would already be unhappy enough to see him if he wasn’t a werewolf chained in his basement.

If it was the full moon, then Peter should be back at his dad’s house. But Peter’s dad was weird. He was always telling Peter to use portkeys, and Sirius knew for a fact that Chateau Pettigrew wasn’t hooked up to the Network at all.

That only left one really unpleasant option.

“Sirius Orion Black!”

And no time left to waste worrying about it.

Without turning to look at his mother, Sirius tossed the powder into the flames, and as they turned bright green, shouted the only thing he could.

“Take me to James Potter!”

Hoping against hope there was only one James Potter living in Britain, Sirius leapt into the flames.

As ever, there was a rush of heat, a feeling of movement, and then…

Sirius Black tumbled headlong out of the fireplace, rolling to a stop on a rather soft maroon rug. As he looked up, hurting everywhere, he saw a very old wizard and witch staring at him from opposite ends of a curved couch, and one much younger wizard between them looking down at him like he’d seen a ghost.

“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Potter,” Sirius said, trying to recover some semblance of dignity. “I’m Sirius. Sirius Black. Do you mind if I stay with you for a day or two?”


	13. Not A Second Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the last year, the boys have made a lot of mistakes and kept a lot of secrets. Now it's time to apologize for all of it -- or this is going to be the end of their friendship.
> 
> And with what's coming on the horizon for one of them, they're really going to need to stick together...

As far back as James could remember, he and his parents had kept to a simple Friday night routine. His dad would bring in all the copies of the _Daily Prophet_ he’d been putting off reading for the last week and go through them one by one, making pithy comments here and there. His mum would flip on the wireless and listen to the latest WWN Harmonic Orchestra broadcast while idly making notes in her journal. And James would sit between them, reading a book or doodling or just listening to his parents chatter back and forth. It was cozy, and nice.

Sirius Black tumbling out of the fireplace sort of ruined the mood, though.

“What the hell are you doing here?” James said, practically dragging Sirius upstairs to his room. He’d spent the last 10 minutes with his jaw hanging open, watching his parents fuss over Sirius like he was a stray dog that had stumbled into their living room. Eventually, they remembered their natural-born son was there too, and told him to take Sirius upstairs to change into some clean clothes — which made sense, since the dress robes he was wearing made it look as if he’d come from his own funeral.

“Nice to see you too,” Sirius said, tugging his arm out of James’s grasp and fussing with the red tie at his neck. “I mean it’s not like I expected a royal welcome or anything, but—”

“Yes, yes, go on about how mean I’m being,” James said. “If I get annoyed I can always just put my Invisibility Cloak on and leave, right?”

Sirius’s face flushed, and he didn’t say anything else all the way up the stairs. James pushed the door to his room open and went straight over to his wardrobe, pulling a drawer open and fishing around for a spare pair of pyjamas.

“Really, Sirius,” he finally said, stuffing a mismatched pair of pinstripe pyjamas into the other boy’s arms and going over to sit on his bed. “Why did you just floo into my living room? Dressed like…that?”

Sirius bit his lip, looking away from James, and started to change, tossing his coat on the ground and beginning to undo his buttons.

“I had Bellatrix’s wedding,” he finally said. “Remember? Walburga forced me to come, and behave myself all year, in exchange for not giving me the cold shoulder anymore. Though I think I’ve ruined that now.”

“How? You went, didn’t you?”

“I certainly did.” There was something off about Sirius, James noticed. He was moving stiffly, like he was only half-there. “But I certainly didn’t behave myself.”

He didn’t say anything else — just slipped off the rest of his dress robes and stepped into the pyjamas James had given him. As Sirius started buttoning up the shirt, James couldn’t help but giggle, and he turned around.

“What?”

“You just — you look mad, Sirius. Or colorblind. Or both.” His top was sort of normal, red and white alternating stripes, but the flowy trousers James had given him were bright yellow and blue. “It sort of hurts my eyes to look at you.”

“Oh, sod off,” Sirius said, picking up his dress shirt and throwing it at James.

“Ugh,” James said, tossing it away. “This is all gross and sweaty.” He reached over for a pillow and threw it back at Sirius, catching him in the arm.

“Hey, watch it,” Sirius said, throwing it back. James was already tossing another pillow though, and that one hit him right in the face. “James…”

“What?” James said, smiling and feigning innocence. “You throw your gross shirt at me and I’m not allowed to retaliate?” He blocked the pillow Sirius threw back, and then tossed his. “What were you even doing to get that slimy?”

Sirius didn’t try to dodge the pillow, and it hit him in the stomach, bouncing off. He didn’t move to get it. “I was running,” he said. “From my mother. For my life, maybe.”

James stopped, halfway toward grabbing another pillow. “Wait. What?”

Sirius didn’t want to, but James eventually got him to come over to the bed and tell him about everything. Fighting with Remus. Going home with his parents instead of going to Wiltshire. The wedding dinner. Finding Bellatrix and Rodolphus in the kitchen. The people they’d attacked. The people they’d Imperiused. Trying to blow up the wedding, and bring the Ministry in to save them. And his mother, chasing him through the halls, relentlessly sending hexes and curses his way.

“That’s horrible, Sirius.” James said, still trying to process it all.

“It’s whatever.” He swung his legs back and forth off the edge of James’s bed, looking down at his toes. “I’m the one who’s always telling you lot how awful they are. I shouldn’t be surprised when they prove it.”

James really didn’t know what he could say to that. So the two of them just sat there silently for a few moments. Below them, James could hear the muffled sounds of his parents talking, and moving things about in the kitchen. Knowing his father, he probably had mugs of cocoa ready to go already, and his mother was trying to keep him downstairs until they came back.

He wondered what Sirius’s parents were doing right now in London.

“Hey, Sirius?” he said, hesitantly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the Invisibility Cloak. You and Remus were right to be cross with me.”

“No we weren’t,” Sirius replied, looking back at him. “You were just trying to do what your dad said was right. And you don’t have to tell us everything just because we’re friends.”

“But I should!” James replied. “I should have told you about the cloak as soon as I got it. Or at least sometime after that. And I definitely shouldn’t have used it to hide from Professor O’Brien and those prefects when they found us in the Cavern.”

“That is true,” Sirius said, “but it’s not the worst thing you could have done, right? You were just looking out for yourself.”

“Well, I should have been looking out for all of us. And that’s what I’m going to do from now on, okay?”

“Okay,” Sirius said. He smiled for the first time since he’d arrived in James’s home, though it slipped off his face a moment later. “It’s alright if I stay here for a little while, isn’t it? I don’t know what’s happening back home, but I know my parents are gonna be furious…”

“Of course,” James said. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

“Even if it’s all summer?” Sirius said, half a laugh in his tone. “I think it might take a while for Walburga and Orion to get over this one.”

“My parents would be _thrilled_ to have you here all summer,” James said. “And so would I.”

He jumped to his feet, pulling Sirius with him. “Come on. If I know my parents, they’re dying to feed you.”

“I already ate dinner tonight.”

“Trust me,” James said, pushing him toward the door. “That won’t matter.”

As he’d expected, both of his parents spent the rest of the night gushing over Sirius — it would have made James jealous, if it wasn’t for the story Sirius had told him upstairs. To his great relief, they both seemed to take his brief explanation that he and his parents just “got in a fight” at the wedding at face value, and just focused on supplying them both with cocoa, biscuits and even a tiny glass of Butterbeer before bed.

But when James came downstairs for breakfast in the morning, his father was waiting for him, a copy of the _Prophet_ unfurled in front of him.

“Items from the society column don’t usually make it to the front page of the _Prophet_ , even on Saturdays,” his father said by introduction, closing the paper and sliding it across the table. “But, then again, most wizarding weddings don’t include unsolved Statute of Secrecy violations.”

James looked down at a picture of mass chaos: a registry office with flames and curses breaking through windows, glass scattered on the street, and terrified Muggles being pushed out of the way by men in robes, who looked hesitant to even go inside. The headline above read “LESTRANGE WEDDING SITE OF UNEXPLAINED ATTACK.”

“Ministry seems to be taking the angle that this was an unsuccessful attack by Voldemort’s forces,” his father said. “Though, of course, that doesn’t make much sense, seeing as how the Lestranges are such pureblood fanatics, this is the first Lestrange wedding in a couple decades where the bride and groom aren’t cousins. Seems like the sort of family Voldemort might be chummy with.”

“Dad—”

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” his father continued. “Nobody was hurt, and the damage has been fixed, and it sounds like all of the Muggles who saw the incident were Obliviated, so they won’t remember what happened. But it makes you wonder what happened. Who did this, and what their motivations were.”

His father was asking him something without asking it, James realized.

“Well, based on what this story says, and what I know about the Lestranges from Sirius,” James said, choosing his words carefully, “I would guess that whoever did this wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. They were trying to do the right thing.”

James’s father nodded, absorbing that information. “That’s good,” he said finally. “I’m glad to know there are people out there still doing the right thing. People you can trust.”

Then he gave James a genuine smile, and took the paper back. “So: Is your friend Sirius usually a late sleeper? I can start making breakfast now, or…”

“No, he’ll probably be asleep a while,” James said, smiling back. “Can I have a muffin for now?”

“There’s still some of those pumpkin ones left,” his father said, getting up and moving to the breadbasket. “Do you and Sirius have plans for today?”

“No,” James said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Boy, what an understatement.

* * *

For the briefest of moments upon waking, Remus couldn’t quite figure out where he was. He was lying down on a large woven rug, face pressed into itchy threads instead of the familiar wood planks of the Shrieking Shack. It was quieter too — no bird sounds, or the whistling of the wind, or even the sizzling of Madam Pomfrey’s customary bacon breakfast.

Then he heard a noise that clarified everything. The clanking of chains.

Remus sat up slowly, head ringing like a bell. The chains stretched all the way across the rug to a sturdy ring in the floor. All around it, Remus could see tears in the rug and chips in the concrete.

Not much blood, though, and his aches and pains seemed to be fading as he got his bearings. So probably no new scars this time. Though the dried blood all along his left side and the tatters of his singlet and pyjama bottoms seemed to suggest he hadn’t been this whole and healthy all night.

A knock came from the door at the top of the steps.

“I’m awake!” Remus shouted. “Come on in!”

He heard the internal bolt slide back, and his father was coming down the steps, wand in hand.

“Dammit,” he said, catching sight of Remus’s torn clothes and the bloodstain under his ribs, and he took the last ten steps at double-speed before Remus could say anything. “Where’re you hurt?”

“I’m not,” Remus said, twitching away from his dad and better showing him the side of his body. “Look. Just blood. Must have happened last night and healed over before I changed back.”

“Oh, good.” His father stopped running and took a moment to catch his breath. “I’m so glad you have Madam Pomfrey up at school. I’m all-thumbs with healing magic; I’m always worried I’m going to do something worse on accident.”

His father undid the chains first, to Remus’s great relief, and then conjured new clothes and a damp flannel for him. Also a huge relief. The last time his father had tried to clean blood off of him with a Scouring Charm, he’d taken a layer of skin with it.

“Now, don’t be cross,” his father said as he was following Remus upstairs. “But with Peter being here all last week and us getting prepared for the full moon, neither your mother nor I thought of going down to the grocer’s to get more bread until we were halfway through making breakfast today.”

“Oh,” Remus said, feeling obligated.

The morning after a full moon, his parents always tried to overcompensate by preparing a full English breakfast for their hungry little werewolf. Remus had wasted a great deal of time last summer trying to convince his parents not to go all-out. All he really needed was for there to be _something_ hot upstairs for him to fill his belly with — preferably bacon or sausage. Not the feast he was usually presented with.

“She and I have gotten the bulk of it started,” his dad continued as they stepped up to the ground floor, “so I’m going to run into town and pick some more up at the corner shop for toast. Need anything else while I’m out?”

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, magic some up?”

His dad shook his head with a smile. “Aren’t they teaching you anything at that school, young man? Remind me to find you my copy of _Pryce’s Primer on the Laws of Magic_ when I get back. Hope, love, I’m headed out!”

“Lyall, get some sausages too, if you can. I’ll be using the last of them today.”

“If they’ve got some, I’ll bring back as many as I can carry.”

Remus felt his mouth starting to water, and imagined himself slapping the wolfish part of his brain. It didn’t help.

“Don’t worry, Remus,” his mum said, bringing the frying pan with her as she walked over to the dining table and spooned a half-dozen sausages onto his plate. “Promise, there’s enough for today. Bacon’s up next.”

Remus muttered something under his breath he wouldn’t want his mother to make him say again at full volume.

“Oh, stop being so grouchy,” she replied, crossing to the stovetop again. “You know it makes your father feel better to have breakfast waiting for you in the morning. Me too, to be honest.”

Remus inhaled five of the six sausages before seeing the letter sitting next to his plate. The writing of his name on the envelope looked suspiciously like James’s hand. “What’s this letter?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” his mother said absently, coming over with a small plate of bacon for them to split. “An owl dropped it off for you after moonrise last night. Nearly scared me to death it did, clattering against the big glass window. I thought you’d gotten out and — well, it surprised me.”

Remus tucked a piece of bacon in his mouth whole, ignoring his mother’s tut of disgust, and then picked up the letter, breaking the unnecessarily posh wax seal and pulling a small note out.

 

_Remus,_

_Don’t throw this letter away._

_It’s James (obviously)._

_I know you’re still pissed at me. But this is more important._

_Sirius is here. At my house. He came tumbling out of our fireplace last night with half the Lestrange wedding chasing after him. Turns out the buggers aren’t as bad as they seem; they’re worse._

_I can explain more if you write me back. When you write me back, I hope._

_I messed up. I know that. And it sounds like Sirius hasn’t been a stand-up gent either. But he needs his friends._ _All_ _his friends._

_I don’t know how your situation is out in Wiltshire, but if your parents are still hooked up to the Floo Network, my dad’s going to be going into London soon, and offered to take me and Sirius with him. If you can get there (and Peter too), we could meet at that new ice cream place. My treat._

_(Well, my parents’ treat technically but that’s not the point.)_

_I don’t know how to fix this if you won’t talk to me. But right now, Sirius needs you as his friend. I need you as my friend. And I bet you need us too._

_Write me back, soon as you can._

_James_

 

_P.S. Tell your parents I’m sorry I didn’t come out and visit! It wasn’t because they live in the country. I like the country. Sometimes._

_P.P.S. My parents are not stingy. We’re talking TWO SCOOPS of ice cream at least. Think about it._

 

Remus rolled his eyes and tossed the letter onto the table face-down, reaching for another piece of bacon.

“Who was that from?” his mother said, studying him closely.

“Oh, just James,” Remus said. He pretended to be very interested in his last remaining sausage.

His mother wasn’t convinced.

“You know, Remus,” she said, putting down her knife and fork, “I was young once too.”

Remus looked up and wrinkled his brow. “Wait, what?”

“Remus.”

His parents didn’t get into many arguments in front of him, but when they did, Remus had seen his mother make the exact face she was making now. Serious eyes. Slight dimple because she thought he was being ridiculous. Sense that at any minute, she might say, apropos of nothing: “I know you can do magic, dear, but please stop acting like I’m an idiot.”

“You came home from Hogwarts with only one of the friends who was supposed to be joining you for the fortnight,” she continued, “and neither you nor Peter mentioned James or Sirius the entire time he was here. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time you’ve ever gone more than a day without telling me something about either of them.

“And,” she added, “in case it was not already more obvious, when you came home, the first thing you did was run over, give me a hug, and whisper ‘Sirius can’t come and it’s not a big deal but don’t call Peter by the wrong name because Dad did and it was _weird._ ’”

Remus could feel his face turning bright red. It was not fair for a mum to be able to do such a convincing impression of her son.

“What are you, turning into one of the solicitors at your office now?” he muttered.

To his irritation, his mum just smiled, teeth and all. “Oh, that’s sweet of you to say, Remus. Now, tell me what’s going on with you and your friends.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Remus said, peevishly folding his arms over his chest. “Not with James and not with you.”

“Remus…” His mum softened a bit, and put her hand on his arm. “Listen, whatever it is, I am on your side. And it can’t be _that_ bad; you’re only 13. Lord knows I got into plenty of spats with my girlfriends when I was that age, but none of it was truly worth giving up a friendship over. Trust me on that.”

“I don’t know if our friendship is over,” Remus admitted. “I’m just… I’m still upset with James. With them both. And now James is writing to me like the sky is falling, making excuses for why I need to drop everything and go talk to them about it. I don’t wanna talk. I just want them to be… better.”

“I mean,” his mother said, “your friends generally seem pretty great, from what you say about them and what I saw of Peter while he was here. And you must have told them about being a werewolf, so you clearly trust them.”

Remus nearly fell out of his chair.

“Wh-what? No, no, no, I didn’t do that. What-where- _why_ would you say that?”

His mother sighed and put one elbow on the table, rubbing her forehead gently as she looked at him. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you are just like your father, Remus. You both think you’re the only people in the world who can make an educated guess.”

“What?”

“When you told me about Sirius not coming, I started to worry about why he had decided not to come home with you and Peter. That was when I mentioned the basement so… well, foolishly, to be honest. And when I did that, everyone froze for a second. You, me, your father — and Peter. Except he had no reason to freeze. As far as he should have known, he was staying for a few weeks until your Aunt Eleanor came to town. Although he was probably distracted thinking about all the times you leave the castle because _you’re_ slightly ill.

A memory suddenly flickered to life in the back of Remus’s mind. Last year, he’d told his parents about having to come up with a cover story, but it’d felt weird saying that he was pretending his mum was sick. Saying it to her felt even more like he was jinxing himself and putting her into the hospital than telling them the same thing. He’d never thought the deception would matter, at the time — and after he told James, Sirius, and Peter that he was actually a werewolf, he’d been so afraid his parents would discover that he’d told the three of them the truth that he forgot to remember which lies he’d told.

“Wait,” Remus said. “You know that I told them something different?”

“Don’t be too hard on Peter, if he mentions it the next time you see him. We had a confusing little moment when I went upstairs to check on him Thursday, before he Portkeyed home. But it was actually very helpful in putting the whole thing together.”

“Merlin’s saggy y-fronts.” Remus had completely forgotten his breakfast, and was just staring back at his mother. “Oh my god. Did you tell Dad? Does he know?”

“No, no, no,” his mother said quickly, concern immediately appearing on her face. “Of course not, Remus. I wasn’t even sure I was going to talk to you about it, honestly. I just… I was afraid you were never going to, without a little nudge. And I’m _glad_ you’ve told your friends. This… condition you’re cursed with. I can’t imagine what a burden it must be. I know you have to be careful — but I’m glad that you have friends in your life who you can trust to lighten that burden for you a little bit every month.”

Remus didn’t realize he was going to start crying until he was already sobbing, curled in on himself and trying to turn his face as far away as possible.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mum said, pushing her chair back and coming over to crouch beside him, enveloping him in a large hug. “It’s alright. I’m right here.”

After a few moments, he managed to catch his breath, and leaned back in his seat, wiping his face dry as his mum moved back into her own seat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sniffling. “I’m just…I’m always a little emotional after the full moon, you know.”

His mum smiled gently. “I do know.”

Remus looked over at the discarded letter, and gingerly picked it up. “I’m upset with James because he lied to the rest of us about… something…and it got me, Sirius, and Peter in trouble. Right before school let out. And then Sirius and I got in a fight on the way home because he wanted me to apologize to James and let him come out to Wiltshire with us, and I didn’t want to yet. And now…”

Remus reread the letter again quickly, skimming through it. “Something’s happened to Sirius, and now he’s run away to James’s house. And James wants us all to get together and stop fighting. But I’m not done being angry with him yet, mum.”

His mother was silent for a moment, thinking. “Remus — how many times have you been upset with your father? Or with me?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Loads, I bet.”

“And when you’re mad at us, do you still care about us? Or does that feeling go away?”

Remus felt like he was caught in a trap. A mum-trap. He bet James’s mum wasn’t this good at tricking people. Lucky arse.

“I guess I still care about you.”

“And you must still feel the same about James and Sirius. Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks trying your hardest not to talk about them, or think about them. Right?”

“I guess.”

“Well then,” she said, picking the last sausage off of his plate with her fork and taking a bite, “I guess then you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

Remus sighed. “You think Dad’ll mind if I borrow his owl?”

“Ask him yourself,” his mother said, gesturing toward the door behind Remus that was swinging open as she spoke. “Looks like he’s just getting back.”

Remus pushed back his chair and rushed through the living room, shouting “Dad, I’m gonna use your owl quick” as he blew past him and started up the stairs.

“Hey,” he heard his dad shout as he ran, “what about your toast?”

* * *

“I cannot _believe_ you wrote to Remus!”

“Well, I did,” James said, moving to block Sirius’s path. “Now stop being such a baby and listen to me.”

“Bloody hell, James,” Sirius cursed back. “I should never have come here.”

A lie, of course. Up until a few moments ago, when an unfamiliar owl had showed up at James’s window, Sirius had been having more fun than he could ever remember having outside the walls of Hogwarts.

The Potters had both doted on him like he was the beloved son and James the interloper (something James had been certain to complain about at odd intervals), and he and his friend had spent the last two days rampaging about the old Potter estate.

It was probably the same size as his parents’ home, but where Grimmauld Place was narrow, each floor on top of the next, James’s home sprawled. For the past few days, James had taken him on a running tour of the house, into strange small rooms and up crooked stairwells and within an attic cluttered with family heirlooms and a hundred wigs and, best of all, a small chest that revealed itself to be full of old advertisements for Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and newspaper clippings that revealed that James’s _dad_ was the INVENTOR OF SLEEKEAZY’S HAIR POTION.

He was really angry at Remus still, but if they ever spoke again, he was going to be so excited to tell him.

“You are being such a twat, Sirius,” James said. He stood face-to-face with Sirius, and showed no sign of moving anytime soon. “Maybe if you didn’t fight with everyone who looked at you cross-eyed, I wouldn’t have had to write to Remus in the first place.”

“Whatever,” Sirius said, breaking the stare-down first and stomping over to an armchair in the corner of James’s bedroom. He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged in the seat and deliberately looked out the window at the grey cloudy skies.

“Are you listening to me or ignoring me?” James said from the doorway.

“Both.” Sirius heard the foolishness of his statement too late, and decided not to acknowledge it.

From out of the corner of his eye, he could see James throw his hands up in exasperation, and then cross the room to pick up the letter Sirius had thrown into the bin.

“All I said was that you were here,” James said, “and that I wanted us to meet and make up. I’m the one he’s cross with, remember?”

“He’s plenty cross with me too,” Sirius said. “You missed the fight on the train.”

“From what he says here, sounds like the only person on the train who was upset was you.”

“Peter was pretty upset about having to actually take sides on a disagreement for once,” Sirius grumbled, refusing to look at James.

He heard his friend sigh, and then drag his desk chair over to sit across from him, its legs scraping on the wooden floor.

“Sirius,” he said. “I think we can agree that all of us have done stupid things this year, right?”

“I haven’t,” Sirius replied. “Unless you count believing that my family might actually care about me, but that doesn’t have anything to do with you lot, so…”

“You’re doing something stupid right now,” James said. “Sure, it’s not telling your friends that your mum is dying so you don’t have to tell them you’re a werewolf, or keeping your Invisibility Cloak a secret and only revealing you have it when you use it to escape detention, or…well, I’m sure Peter has done something stupid too.”

“Probably several things.”

“My point is: You got in a fight with Remus, one of your best friends, because you wanted him to stop fighting with me, one of your other best friends. And now, Remus and I are both telling you that we want to meet, and stop fighting, and you are the one digging in your heels and refusing to come with. That’s about as smart as rubbing noses with an Erumpent.”

Sirius sat there for a minute, trying to think of a reason why James was wrong. To his supreme irritation, he couldn’t.

“Look,” James said, “if you really don’t want to come with, you don’t have to. I’ll go, and talk to Remus, and then we can figure out everything else one day at a time. But I think it would be good for all four of us to meet. Don’t you?”

“I suppose,” Sirius said, slowly. He hoped this wasn’t as bad an idea as it felt like it was.

“Good,” James said. “I’ll tell my dad later tonight. Then we can write Remus and Peter back and let them know what day we’ll be there.”

A thought suddenly popped into Sirius’s head. “James. I’m a bloody idiot. I’ve been here all weekend and we haven’t used the Invisibility Cloak once! Why don’t you grab it, and we can go downstairs and tease your house-elves? They seem nicer than the lot at Grimmauld Place, so we’ll have to apologize after, but—”

“We can’t,” James said, half-smiling.

“Why not?”

“Two reasons,” he replied. “One: My dad told me when I got home last summer that I wasn’t allowed to use the Invisibility Cloak in the house, because ‘he and my mum have been through enough already’ raising me for 11 years.”

“Well, it’s not like they’d be able to see you…”

James ignored his argument. “And two: It’s almost time for lunch.”

“Can’t we just say we aren’t hungry? We’ve been eating all of our meals at odd hours and if we’re going down to the kitchen anyway—”

“We _can’t_ ,” James said. “It’s Sunday roast. Family tradition.”

“In my experience,” Sirius said, “family traditions are always bad news for Sirius Black.”

“Not this one,” James said, grabbing his arm and dragging him to his feet. “Come on, let’s find a collared shirt of mine that fits you.”

The Potters had been so casual in comparison to his family that he’d completely forgot the concept of dressing for dinner. Luckily, looking nice at a table full of food was one of the only things he could do right in his mother’s eyes.

“Fine with me,” Sirius said, stepping past James and pulling open the wardrobe. “Where’s that burgundy shirt you’re always wearing? It looks awful on you, but I think I can make it work.”

“Sirius.”

He turned around to look at his best friend James Potter, who was beet red, fuming, and wearing his burgundy shirt already.

“Oh, great,” Sirius said with a big grin. “Take that off and give it a good Scouring Charm, would you? I want to make a good impression on your parents.”

“I’m going to make an impression on you,” James mumbled, but he went to work on the buttons anyway.

Turned out James was right. Sunday roast was the exact opposite of bad news for Sirius Black. It was the first time he’d sat down at a table and felt like he was at home.

* * *

“Do you lot travel by Floo all the time?” Sirius whined. “I mean, Side-Along Apparition makes me want to heave, but I’ve always chalked that up to having to be so close to my mother.”

James rolled his eyes and hoped his father was particularly deaf today. He was still chatting with an old friend behind the bar, but about 50 percent of the time James thought his father wasn’t listening to him, he got caught flatfooted an hour later by some offhand comment.

“Weren’t you excited to finally get to see the Leaky Cauldron?” James said. “Be more excited and less of an arse.”

“I mean, I _am_ excited,” Sirius said. “But I also can’t order anything here, because I have no money, and also am 13.”

“My dad’ll get you a Butterbeer, or—”

“It’s too early for Butterbeer. And I’m not thirsty anyway.”

“All right, sorry.”

Sirius had been in a foul mood all morning, not that either of James’s parents would know. To the two of them, he was a perfect little angel, full of pleases and thank yous, and then as soon as the two of them were alone he was complaining about this and that and fretting about what Remus was going to say.

It’d taken a lot of personal strength for James not to hex him right out of his bedroom window before they left, and he was very proud of his restraint.

“Alright, Tom,” his dad said, shaking hands across the bar. “I’d better get this lot off into Diagon Alley before they pace a hole in your floor. Next time I’m in town, you’ll have to pour me a proper drink.”

And then they were off, into the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron, through the back wall, and into Diagon Alley.

James broke into a wide smile as soon as he saw the shops through the moving bricks. Growing up out in the country, the world of wizards had seemed quiet and uneventful. Sure, his parents used wands to rearrange the furniture and wrap presents and carry soup up to his room when he was sick. But simple, practical magic was boring magic.

Diagon Alley was anything but boring. Wizards may not have been waving their wands left and right, casting whatever spell they fancied. But there was so much commotion, so much enchantment in the air. There was something moving in every shop window, rooftops changing their angles every time he looked, potions ingredients sticking out of bags or even trying to run away from their new owner, the smell of smoke and cinnamon and embers.

He loved his parents, but if he could live anywhere in the world other than there and Hogwarts, it would be right here on this crazy, manic, magic street.

“So,” his dad said, pulling him and Sirius slightly off the path and putting an arm on both of their shoulders. “I have a couple of errands to run: Gringotts, Obscurus Books, maybe that little off-licence in Knockturn Alley your mother says I’m not allowed to go to anymore. I suspect you don’t want to join me on any of those trips.”

Sirius looked desperately like he wanted to say yes, though whether it was to avoid Remus or to get into the off-licence was anybody’s guess.

James answered for them both. “I think we’ll be fine, Dad. Remus should be here soon anyway.”

“Alright then.”

His dad looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he put his hand in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a small handful of sickles, which he pressed into James’s hand.

“For your ice creams. Should be enough there for the four of you — maybe a little extra if you want to nip into one of the shops after.”

“I just hope there is an after,” Sirius said, after James’s dad had gone walking off toward Gringotts.

“Oh, shut up,” James said, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “Can’t you stop being a sour flobberworm for two minutes?”

“No,” Sirius said, rather properly. “No I cannot.”

But he came with James down the lane, winding their way toward the new parlour with the name “Fortescue” painted in bright blue letters on the awning. When they arrived, there were a handful of tables and chairs outside, largely empty. Except for the table Peter and a double-chocolate sundae were already sitting at.

“‘Ey,” Peter said, smiling mouth full of ice cream. He waved as James and Sirius sat down across from him. “How’s your summer been so far? Er, other than the whole wedding explosion thing, of course.”

James looked askance at Sirius, expecting him to explode, but he should have known better. Sirius didn’t usually yell at Peter when he was annoyed with him. He was just mean.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sneering at Peter’s ice cream. “You bought ice cream before we even got here?”

“We’re meeting for ice cream,” Peter said, hesitating slightly. “Aren’t we?”

“Well, sure,” Sirius said. “After we get done having a long argument about all the reason’s we’re cross with each other, maybe. Not before.”

Peter’s face drooped.

“It’s fine,” James interjected, glaring at Sirius. “Don’t worry about it, Peter. Sirius is just being a wanker.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

James turned to see Remus coming up behind them, looking surly already. He and Sirius actually had the same expression, James noticed. Lovely way to start the afternoon. So glad he thought of this. Why, he was so brilliant, he clearly should have been in Ravenclaw.

Maybe the blokes in Ravenclaw were less tetchy than these two.

Remus sat down next to Peter, across from him and Sirius, crossing his arms. He didn’t say a word about ice cream. Or anything else.

Sirius didn’t either. He just kept glaring at each of them in turn.

Through the table, James could feel the vibration of Peter’s leg bouncing up and down.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin!” James finally shouted. “Will one of you two start yelling at someone so we can get this over with?”

* * *

James gave him the opportunity. Remus took it.

“Alright, fine,” he said, slamming his elbows onto the table and leaning across it to look straight into James’s eyes. “What the hell gives you the right to write me bloody letters about friendship, you twat? You’re the one who left us in the Cavern to take the fall. You’re the one who had to be all self-righteous and make excuses instead of just apologizing. And now, just because this one drops into your parlour one night, you think it’s time to kiss and make up? Not bloody likely.”

To his credit, James didn’t shout anything back. This was less than expected. In fact, Remus was sort of surprised he’d managed to make it all the way to the end without being interrupted.

“You’re right,” James said, simple and startlingly.

“I _know_ I’m right,” Remus started, confused. “But—”

“I flew solo,” James said. “All last year, when we were supposed to be a team, I was running off and doing my own thing, without you even realizing it. I was exploring the castle and getting into mischief all by myself, and then I got out of it all by myself. But I left the three of you holding the bag when I did that. And for some reason, I was stupid enough to think that was okay to do to my best mates.

“I made a mistake,” he continued, looking at each of them in turn. “I’m sorry. I promise all of you, it will not happen again. From here on out, I’m a team player. Not a showboat.”

“I can’t imagine you not being a showboat,” Sirius started, but Peter cut him off.

“Thank you,” he said simply, a weak smile on his face. “I just — I know we were all upset with you about what happened in the Cavern, James… But I just didn’t want us to all go back to school still fighting, like we did after Christmas. That was really tough for me.”

Remus looked at Peter in surprise. He hadn’t known his friend felt that way. They’d talked a little bit about how Peter was feeling in the last two weeks — though mostly it was about Peter’s weird encounter with Professor Egg — but he’d never said a word about their fight over the holidays. As far as Remus had known, Peter was back to normal the minute they got on the Hogwarts Express.

“I didn’t realize that,” James said. “But I’m sorry that happened then, and this summer. Are we okay?”

Peter nodded his head alarmingly fast, and Remus could see in Sirius’s expression that he and James had already made up since he’d arrived at the Potters’. That just left him.

“That’s not enough for me,” Remus said. “Not from you — or you,” he added, looking at Sirius now.

“What is it then?” Sirius shouted, before James could say anything else. “Look, James has already said he’s sorry for ditching us in the Cavern. I’m sorry for yelling at you on the train. What more do you want?”

“I want you to take your heads out of your arseholes long enough to ask yourself how I can ever trust either of you again!”

James and Sirius seemed to shrink away from the table, and looked at each other like they were surprised to hear him shouting. Which was fair. _Remus_ was surprised he was shouting.

He had yelled like this at both James and Sirius before, but never without a full moon’s influence weighing on him. But his last change was more than a week in the past. This was him. Really him.

Remus took a minute of silence to collect his thoughts and take a deep breath. It felt very much like he was only going to have one chance to explain this right, and he didn’t want to blow it. He couldn’t blow it.

“When I finally told you,” he started, going slowly and keeping his voice down, “that I was…about my ‘furry little problem,’ as you call it… The three of you were all so amazing. Imagine being told your whole life that if anyone found out about your secret, you would be immediately shunned — betrayed, cast out, maybe even killed.

“But that didn’t happen. All you wanted to know was how I got out of the castle. All you cared about was that I wasn’t sick. I don’t think any of you realize how…

“Then, months later, it turns out that you’ve had your own secret this whole time, James. And when we caught you out, you tried to throw mine back in my face. Like it was some bargaining chip.”

“That’s not what I—”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s what you meant to do, James,” Remus said. “That’s what it felt like. So now, suddenly, this person I thought was my friend is keeping his own secrets, and trying to use mine against me. And then, on the train, one of my other friends starts doing the same thing, making me feel bad about being a… about having my secret. All just to get me to do what he wants.”

“I didn’t—”

“How do I know you won’t do worse one day? This is my life we’re talking about here — not House points or detentions or Invisibility Cloaks. I need to know that the three of you are going to keep me safe. That we’re all going to keep each other safe.”

There was a surge of something like bravery pulsing through his veins, and the others were watching him silently.

“I need you to promise me that we won’t do this again,” he said. “I mean, not fight. I know we’re going to fight again. But you can’t use my condition against me. Ever. Not even on accident. Because if this happens a second time, I’m never going to be able to trust you again. And if the last few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that I need the three of you to be my friends. My best friends.”

Remus had never thought anything could feel worse than the dread of preparing to tell James, Sirius and Peter about being a werewolf.

The minute of silence that followed his speech eclipsed it effortlessly. James looked pensive for the first time in his life. Sirius’s expression had scarcely changed from sulking. Peter just sat there, swirling his spoon round and round in his empty sundae dish.

Then, without warning, James stretched his hand across the table and slammed it down with a bang. “Alright,” he said, devilish grin on his face. “I agree.”

“Me too!” Peter said, slapping his hand down on top of James’s. Remus’s lip quirked as he saw James flinch in pain.

Sirius just laughed. “You lot are being a bunch of girls, you know.” But he put his hand on top of the others too.

Remus completed the circle, placing his right hand on top of the others. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. “Just…thanks.”

There was a moment of simple companionship. Then…

“Alright, enough hand-holding,” Sirius said, wrenching his hand out from between Remus and Peter’s. “James’s dad gave him a bunch of money for ice cream and candy. It’s not going to eat itself!”

Remus was so terribly glad to be friends with these ridiculous blokes.

* * *

In the last three weeks, Sirius had gotten into two cataclysmic, near-friendship-ending fights, suffered through the increasing alienation of his family, and caused a front-page incident at the wedding of the year.

It was all totally worth it for the way he felt when the four of them had finished filling their bellies with ice cream, got up from the table and started to explore Diagon Alley together.

In the spirit of friendship (gross, but fair), they’d agreed not to go anywhere that the whole group couldn’t agree on. That meant his suggestion of taking a clandestine trip into Knockturn Alley was out. Spending an hour following James around Quality Quidditch Supplies was out. Ditto to Remus and Peter’s eager attempts to wind through the stacks of Flourish and Blotts.

But there was plenty to do even without that. They spent the better part of a half-hour playing with a new litter of shapeshifting rabbits at Magical Menagerie, laughing at the way they all changed into top hats and bowling pins whenever Remus came near them. Then they attempted to try on a variety of increasingly preposterous wigs at a tiny shop called Tangle & Noils, only to find themselves brushed out on the street by a very angry woman with a wart on her eyebrow and an army of enchanted brooms. And of course there was the necessary tour of Diagon Alley’s premier sweetshops, which ended in bulging pockets and a ache in Sirius’s belly.

“I told you that you should have saved the No-Melt Nougats for later,” Remus said as they wandered into Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. “They literally don’t melt. There was no disadvantage to waiting.”

“Yeah there was,” Sirius said. “I would have had to wait.”

Remus groaned and went over to look at a vase full of rolled-up maps in the corner. Sirius noted with amusement that the first one he unrolled was a chart of moon phases, which Remus threw back in with disgust.

“How much longer do you have until your dad wants to head home, James?” Peter asked from across the shop.

“Little less than an hour, I think,” James said, looking at his wristwatch. “And we can be a little later, I think. He said when we were getting ready that if he got back to the Leaky Cauldron before we did, he would just have a pint and wait. Honestly, I think he was hoping for it.”

“Well, in that case…”

As their conversation drifted into a debate over whether they should double back to Carkitt Market or stay on the main street, Sirius moved deeper into the store. His mum always whisked him and Regulus out of stores so quickly when they were shopping for school supplies, he’d never truly had the opportunity to explore. There was a crooked stairwell in back that he took two steps at a time, coming out on a narrow balcony overlooking the rest of the shop, with shelves and cabinets all along the back wall.

For a few minutes, he amused himself tipping over all of the hourglasses and watching the sands trickle downward (or upward, in one particularly memorable case). Then a blinking sign caught his eye: “Looking for Looking-Glasses?”

He wasn’t really, but he went over anyway. Half the ones he picked up didn’t even show his reflection properly. The ones further in back, greenglass with a faint patina, only revealed shapeless shadows that seemed to whisper through the mirror; he put those back quickly. The one that showed his face as an old man earned a quick laugh, as did one that suddenly commanded him to “wash behind your ears!” when he turned to look at a strange triangular mirror with a lavender hue.

Then a smaller sign caught his eye, standing on top of a small drawer: “2-Way Mirrors: 1 Galleon.”

Eyebrow raised, he pulled the drawer open to reveal a small stack of square mirrors the size of his hand, Spellotaped together into pairs. There was a note sandwiched between them, which appeared to detail instructions on how to use them in print so tiny Sirius thought about trying to find a magnifying glass to read it.

When he’d first opened the drawer, he’d hoped he might be able to get one for himself and one for the other three. But from what he could make out, the mirrors only worked with the other half of the pair. Not terribly useful for a group of four friends…

A sudden series of shouts pulled his attention away from the mirrors, and he went over to the edge of the balcony to look down, mirrors still in hand. From above, he could see an older man had run up to James and Peter, grabbing the smaller boy by the arm and trying to pull him out of the store. Peter was fighting him, but not terribly loudly; James and Remus were putting up the bigger fight. The shopkeeper was getting involved too, brandishing a wand and adding his booming voice to the din.

“Ah won’t have any quarreling in mah bloody store!” he shouted, sparks flying into the air. “Geddout! All ‘a you!”

Sirius didn’t wait to see what happened next. He rushed back toward the crooked stairs, nearly killing himself on the way down. When he reached the bottom, the shopkeeper turned toward him, shouting in what was either Scottish or Goblin, but Sirius pushed him to the side — surprising both of them with his strength. As the burly man tumbled into a rack of phials, Sirius darted through the exit, running down the street toward a befuddled-looking Remus and James, who were talking amongst themselves, eyes wide.

“What in the name of Firewhiskey was all that?” Sirius shouted. “Who was that? Where’s Peter? Why aren’t we going after them?”

“We can’t,” James said. “They vanished. Right when they got out to the street.”

“They _Apparated_ ,“ Remus corrected him.

“I know what Apparating is, Remus.”

Remus ignored him. “No idea where. No idea how to find out. Can you even track someone who’s Apparated?”

“We have to find my dad,” James said. “Or the Aurors, maybe.”

“They don’t have Aurors just—”

“GUYS.” Sirius wanted to shake them both. “Who. Took. Peter?”

Remus looked too stunned to even answer, but James had no such problem. “He said… It was his father, Sirius. Peter’s dad just stormed in and took him away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story so far... We've got one bit of this story left to tell, so stay tuned to find out what Peter's dad has been up to behind the scenes this whole fic, and how it's going to change Peter's life forever!


	14. Money (That's What I Want)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more secrets. The truth of what Peter's father has been working on for the last two years -- and who he's been working with -- will be revealed. 
> 
> The real question is: What is Peter going to do about it?

Peter knew if his father was Apparating instead of using a Portkey to get back to the house that things were dire. But he didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

Every muscle in his body screamed in pain as they went. Via Portkey, his body felt like it was being pulled by a fishhook, further and further through space. This was the opposite, somehow. It was like his body was trying to collapse in on itself, and it took all his strength not to let it. The only thing he could feel was his father’s arm, wrapped tightly around his own, quivering slightly.

And then they were there, back in the living room, and the blinding color of the lime green sofa his mother had begged his father to reupholster for years was making him spew up all the ice cream they’d had at Fortescue’s.

A few agonizing moments later, Peter felt the room come back into focus. Next to him, his father was on his knees as well, breathing deeply. He was clearly trying not to do the same thing as Peter.

“Bloody Apparition,” his father cursed between gasps. “Worthless bit of magic. And dangerous besides, today.”

Peter tried to put his mind back together and take stock of what was happening. Ten minutes ago, he’d been in Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, laughing at something James was saying. Then, suddenly, there was his dad, two days ahead of schedule, slamming through the shop’s door and running up to him.

“Peter! You have to come with me! Right now!” he’d shouted.

And Peter hadn’t moved. He’d frozen, paralyzed with confusion, even as his dad came right up to his side and started pulling him toward the exit.

“Dad?” he asked. “What are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

James was saying something now, but he barely heard it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus coming over too.

“Come on, Peter, we don’t have time for this.”

“Dad—”

“It’s your mum, Peter. Something’s happened and we have to go. Right now.”

At the mention of his mother, Peter’s legs suddenly started working. He was halfway out of the store before he knew what was happening, catching the door as he followed his father out without even thinking.

As he heard James and Remus shouting his name, he let his father grab his arm again. He turned back and saw the panic in their faces, started to shout an apology. Then his father said—

“Don’t let go of my arm for anything, Peter.”

—and they were off, Apparating straight home without a second’s hesitation.

“Where’s Mum?” Peter gasped, crawling backwards and away from his puddle of sick. “You said—Why are we here?”

“We’re here because this is where my emergency Portkey is,” his father said, staggering to his feet and Vanishing the vomit on the floor. “And there’s nothing wrong with your mother. Go upstairs and pack.”

_(What.)_

“What?” Peter looked up at his father. Arthur Pettigrew had regained most of the gravity he usually possessed, and was glowering down at Peter like some statue of an ancient Greek god.

“Peter. You heard me. Go upstairs and pack. I gathered my things and sent off a distress signal right before coming to get you. That means we have—” he looked quickly at his wristwatch — “about 20, 25 minutes before the Portkey activates to take us to Galway.”

“Galway? What the hell is in Galway?”

“Our next Portkey,” his father said, like he was stupid. “Look, Peter, I don’t have time to explain this all to you, but we have to leave. Now. Or it’s the end of us.”

“We can’t leave!” Peter shouted. “I—My friends—What about school?”

“Don’t worry about that now,” his father said, finally stepping away from Peter. He went to one of the end tables in the room and pulled the drawer all the way out, fishing for something near the back. “It’s the middle of summer. By August we’ll know how things have shook out. Either we can send you to Ilvermorny under a fake name or I’ll just teach you.”

_(What was the most appalling? Ilvermorny? The fake name? The idea of his father_ teaching _him?)_

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand.” It felt like he was still Apparating, crumpled there on the floor. “What is happening? Where are we going? _Why_ are we going?”

His father turned back around to look at him, disgust plain on his face. “Peter Arthur Pettigrew. We don’t have time for you to pack up your belongings _and_ for me to explain what’s happening to you. Pick one. I strongly suggest the former.”

Peter just sat there on the ground for a moment, watching his father continue to search through the drawer. His dad was right. Whatever was going on, he couldn’t just sit here and wait for something to happen. He had all of his records upstairs. His clothes. Letters from his mum.

So he staggered to his feet. And without a word, he moved past his dad, going out of the living room and starting up the stairs.

And then, about halfway up…

_(What in the seven bloody hells are you doing, you nitwit?)_

The reality of everything hit him. He was going upstairs to pack everything he owned that he could fit in a suitcase or two. Then he was going to take his dad’s hand and hop straight to Galway. And then presumably further, to Canada. Or America.

_(He couldn’t remember where Ilvermorny was, but that didn’t seem like the important part.)_

And he was going to do all of this because… why? Because his dad had showed up in the middle of Diagon Alley, looking more scared than Peter had ever seen him, and told him there was something wrong with his mum and he needed to come home immediately? No —his dad had _lied_ about something being wrong with his mum. Then he hadn’t even kept the lie up any longer than it took them to Apparate back to Chiswick.

And he just expected Peter to go along with it all.

Like he always did.

When Peter came back into the living room, the look of surprise on his dad’s face was exquisite.

“I’m not going upstairs,” Peter said, trying to be as brave as a Gryffindor was supposed to be.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going upstairs,” he repeated. “Tell me what’s happening. I want to know. And I’m not going with you until I do.”

Peter couldn’t remember the last time his dad was properly angry with him. But he was angry now. His face had turned a muddy red, and Peter could see his dad’s left hand twitching furiously at his side.

“Peter.” The words were shaky, as if it cost his father great effort to say them. “I think you’re going to want your things. There isn’t going to be another chance to get them.”

“I don’t care.”

_(You little liar. You want all that worthless garbage up there. Stop being such a baby and go get it.)_

Peter pushed the little voice of fear inside him down deep and kept going. “You told me I had a choice. You said that we had 20 minutes, and I could either pack my things or find out why we’re leaving. I’ve made my choice. I want to know, for once, what you’re doing. What you’ve gotten us into. Why we have to go.”

His father stood there looking at him. It was like he was seeing Peter for the very first time.

“Alright,” he finally said, taking some knick-knack out of the drawer and slipping it into his coat pocket. “Sit down. We have just enough time for this petty diversion.”

Peter sat down on the sofa, trying to maintain his cool.

_(Think about how Dad would handle this situation. If that’s not too terribly ironic.)_

“You lied to me and my friends and said something was wrong with Mum,” Peter said. “Start there.”

“Well, I had to tell you something, Peter,” his dad said, throwing his hands up as he sat down in the armchair opposite him. “What was I going to do, run into Diagon Alley and scream ‘Peter, come quick; we need to flee the country!’”

“So that’s what we’re doing, is it? Fleeing the country?”

“Yes.” His father seemed exasperated now. “I’ve kept an emergency Portkey here at the house for years. If I send off a predetermined distress signal, a chain of Portkeys activate from here to America. The transit is untraceable, and even the Portkeys themselves are bespelled to Vanish after they’re used. It took a lot of time. And effort. And money. But it is about to be extremely worth it.”

Well, Peter certainly couldn’t handle any of that information, so he was going to have to start with the basics. “How did you even find me? Have you been following me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” his father said. “I called the Lupins, as soon as I came home and found out you weren’t here. They didn’t know where you were, but they knew Remus had gone into the city. I got damn lucky finding you in Diagon Alley. Thank Merlin you weren’t in Muggle London, faffing about in Covent Garden or something.”

_(But he found you so fast. He came straight toward you, remember?)_

There wasn’t time for all that. Twenty minutes, he’d said. Twenty-five at most.

“That still doesn’t explain why we’re leaving,” Peter said. “What happened?”

“Well, in a certain sense,” his father said, “ _you_ happened, Peter.”

The floor fell out from under him.

“I had everything set up just right,” his father continued. “I had my gig at the Ministry. And plausible deniability for everything that happened outside of that. And an ally on the inside to help me cover everything up.

“Then you get caught with the bloody record player I sent you.”

That feeling of dread from McGonagall’s office was back again, with a vengeance.

“The only consolation was that I was already out of the country,” his father said. “Otherwise, the Ministry might have suspended me right away, maybe even put me on watch if they already had their suspicions about what I was really up to. But Phineas intercepted my mail, as I asked, and interceded for me, which was smart thinking on his part. He told those toadstools in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office I was on an important trade mission, off the official records, approved at the highest levels of the Ministry and most certainly above their pay grade to ask any more about. They agreed, and backed off. Or so I thought.”

“I don’t understand,” Peter said, running through his conversation with the deputy headmistress again. “Professor McGonagall never said… I…”

“Of course you had to be in Gryffindor,” his father muttered. “Slughorn wouldn’t have given a damn. Apollo Sargas wrote the bloody recommendation that got me into the Ministry in the first place. Whatever levitating pincushion is Hufflepuff Head of House probably wouldn’t have known what a record player was. But that bitch McGonagall…”

Peter pressed on without stopping: “And if you haven’t even met with anyone about it, I don’t understand why we have to leave.”

“Because, Peter, the Ministry has known that there are leaks coming out of my office for _months._ And more than leaks. They just haven’t been able to prove anything because Phineas keeps Magical Law Enforcement at arm’s reach on purpose. They can’t just blindly go poking around without evidence of a crime, and the leaks alone aren’t crimes, so we’re all safe and protected. Until one of us commits a crime. Like enchanting a Muggle record player to run by magic instead of electricity without getting an Experimental Magic Permit first.”

“A permit?!”

All this time, Peter had been wracking himself with guilt. Thinking that he’d screwed up his dad’s career. And the issue was over a bloody permit?

“Well, it wasn’t intended for circulation among Muggles,” his father started saying, “so it isn’t technically against the law. But you’re supposed to register it so the Ministry can keep track of it if you lose it, or if it gets sold, and I couldn’t risk—”

“So let me get this straight.”

_(Careful, careful.)_

“You’re asking me,” Peter shouted, “to give up my whole life — my home, school, Mum, my friends, everything — because you didn’t want to get a sodding PERMIT from the Ministry!”

“No, you little brat,” his father shouted back. “You’re giving up your life because you couldn’t keep a bloody secret safe. And because you couldn’t keep that secret safe, Magical Law Enforcement had an excuse to start looking into me. And guess what, Peter? They found a lot more than they bargained for.”

“Oh whatever,” Peter said, jumping to his feet. “So you had some work on the side. So you took a little money to grease the wheels on a few trade agreements. Let them bloody sack you. Let them slap you with some fine. You certainly can’t have spent the entire suitcase full of galleons you picked up at a Led Zeppelin concert.”

His father’s glare suddenly got sharp and hard.

_(Shouldn’t have mentioned Zeppelin, you moron.)_

“Peter. Sit. Down.”

Peter hadn’t seen his father move an inch, but suddenly his wand was in his hand. Pointed straight at him.

He sat.

“So,” his father continued. “You _were_ snooping about. I suspected Phineas’s son Jasper was lying about having eyes on you the whole time. He’s proven himself to be a rather terrible scout several times, before and since.”

“You were having me watched at the—”

His father’s wand arm twitched ever so slightly. “I think I have the floor now, Peter. Since you wanted to know so badly.”

_(Do you have to be conscious to use a Portkey, or do you get pulled along if you’re asleep, or Stunned? Why haven’t they taught me about this in school yet?)_

“As I said,” his father continued, “the record player was an excuse to do some digging. Phineas stalled the inquisition. Told them I would come in for questioning after I got back later this week.

“The plan was to spend that time cleaning things up. Do one last job, then go dark for a while to cover our tracks. By the time I was back in London, there would be nothing else suspicious on my record. I could go to the hearing and get ‘slapped with some fine,’ as you so eloquently put it. And that would be the end of it.

“But it wasn’t, of course, because somehow they knew more than I thought. I don’t know if they had dirt on me, or on Phineas, but him pushing off the inquiry set off alarm bells. And then _they_ were the ones with the mission off the official records. Requisitioning files and records and treaties, all without Phineas or I realizing it until it was too late.”

“What did they find?” Peter asked, as loudly as he dared.

His father slumped back into the armchair a little bit. “I don’t know, honestly. I’ve only been back in the country a couple of hours, and I don’t dare try to sneak into the Ministry to find out. I haven’t heard from Phineas in two days, so he’s either fled already or been captured himself. I’m guessing the former, or we wouldn’t be here having this lovely conversation.

“At the very least, they knew what I was doing on this trip, down along the Mediterranean. I’ve been a regular merchant trader, Peter, cornering the market on all sorts of magical items and ingredients they want off the market. It’s a rather brilliant scheme; I’m frankly a little surprised the big wizard himself thought of it. Probably didn’t, actually. It’s got Pamela Travers’s fingerprints all over it. But he’s certainly been taking credit, from what I hear.

“It fulfills two objectives, you see. Well, three, if you count my own. Ensuring the cost of real defensive magics and amulets stays high keeps shoddy fakes in the marketplace. They get to keep the ingredients for themselves, which means _they_ have the protection their enemies lack. And I got to make enough money that we’ll be able to set ourselves up like little princes in America. They didn’t make their last payment, of course, but you never expect the last payment in my line of work. The rest is all wired over to a bank account in the States already.”

“Who are you talking about?” Peter said. “Who have you been working for?”

Peter had never seen contempt in his father’s eyes before. He saw it now.

“You know, Peter,” he said. “You can’t be that daft. It’s Voldemort’s army. The Death Eaters.”

_(No.)_

_(No no no no no.)_

_(This can’t be happening. This really can’t be happening.)_

_(My father has been working with the Death Eaters. Is_ he _a Death Eater? Is it better or worse if he’s a Death Eater?)_

_(Is he running from the Ministry or the Death Eaters?)_

_(no no no no no no no no no no no no)_

_(How could I have been so fucking stupid?)_

His father was still talking, Peter slowly realized, while he’d been staring off in his general direction.

“—bad feeling about the last meeting. Travers had been very cagey earlier in the week, like there was something I didn’t know. Thank Merlin one of my informations told me about the Auror attack the night before. Seven dead, six captured, no one knew on which side. If I’d showed up at our usual meeting spot, I don’t know who would have been there waiting for me. I still don’t.

“But I knew I had to get back here as quickly as possible. No Portkeys. The only one I had set was Ministry-issued, and that couldn’t be trusted; they could have changed the destination. I got on the first train to Paris. Then I stepped off partway there and snuck on a different train to Amsterdam, just in case. Got the rest of the way back in a yacht I requisitioned from some gaudy Muggle in the most hideous trousers. Had the thing bespelled to go so fast I broke the real engine halfway there. Then Apparition, once I was near enough the city. Beastly magic. Can’t see how people do that every day.”

“Y-y-you’ve been working with the Death Eaters?” Peter stammered. “The—the Death Eaters. The wizards who’ve been killing all those people?”

“The wizards who are in serious contention to be the dominant ruling class of this nation,” his father replied smoothly. “Yes, Peter, I have been. For about a year and a half, now. I’d worked with a few of the foot soldiers before, on private smuggling, but this paid considerably better. And it had the benefit of keeping us safe. You may have noticed, perhaps, that there hasn’t been a single Death Eater attack on the whole of Chiswick? Despite the fact that London is one of their prime targets.”

Peter hadn’t, to be honest. He hadn’t thought much about the Death Eaters at all, except for when another wizarding family was killed or kidnapped, or when one of the Muggleborn Gryffindors mentioned something about it. Maybe that had been a mistake.

“Believe me, Peter, it has not been an exceedingly enjoyable year and a half,” his father said. “I think their politics are suspect, and their methods counter-productive. But they are too dangerous _not_ to work with. The Ministry failing to recognize that is the reason we’re in this war to begin with.”

“This is insane,” Peter said. “This whole time? Since Mum left?”

“Your mother,” his dad spat back, “is the one who originally introduced me to half of the Death Eaters. And then _she’s_ the one who doesn’t have the stomach to go through with anything. I’d have been working with them for years, if it wasn’t for her, from the very beginning of the war. It certainly didn’t feel like it at the time, Peter, but that woman abandoning us was the best thing that could have happened to you and I.”

Peter’s father took a look at his wristwatch. “That’s enough for now,” he said shortly, getting to his feet. With a flick of his wand, his suitcase shot across the room and stopped right at his feet. He picked it up as he pocketed his wand, and then rummaged through his coat pocket again.

“The Portkey should be taking effect in the next few minutes,” he said, pulling out a rusty bottle opener and holding it out toward Peter. “Take hold now. If Phineas isn’t dead or in prison, I’ll see if he can send Jasper by to get you some of your things.”

Peter didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

“Peter,” his father said. “this is no time for games. Come on.”

_(Yeah, come on you little coward. Take the Portkey.)_

“I can’t,” Peter said, looking up at his dad.

“Excuse me?” His father didn’t lower his arm, but there was a tightness to his stance now. A defensive one, Peter realized.

“If everything you’re telling me is true,” Peter said, “then we’re going to be hunted by both the Ministry and the Death Eaters. Forever.”

“No, we won’t,” his father said. Or pleaded. “There’s no extradition between MACUSA and the Ministry. Long-standing policy, ever since things went sour between them during Grindelwald’s little war. And the Death Eaters don’t have enough power over there to send someone after us. Not before I can mend fences with them, at least.”

“Mend fences?” Peter said. “So you’re not going to stop. We’re just running somewhere safe so you can keep doing your work.”

“Well, not exactly the same work,” his father said. “But I’ve made some connections in America on purpose for just this eventuality. There are many, many people there who share my feelings about this Wizarding War of Voldemort’s — that it is a costly distraction, upon which, ironically, a great deal of fortunes can be made. And they can be made _safely,_ Peter. How long do you think Hogwarts will remain a haven for you? How long can your mother play house in her little flat on the French seaside, pretending the war will never come for her and her Muggle lover?”

_(“Be careful to trust your father,” she told me. “He believes in following his thoughts wherever they take him. Regardless of everything and everyone else.” And I thought she was bitter and mad for it.)_

“There’s no more time to debate, Peter,” his father said. “We can talk more about this later, once we’re out of harm’s way. Take the Portkey.”

“I—I—”

_(I can’t.)_

_(No. Not can’t. More than can’t.)_

“I won’t,” Peter said, looking back at his father with the tiniest bravery. “I’m so sorry. But I won’t go with you. I won’t leave my friends. I won’t leave my home.”

“Your home is with me,” his father said, starting to look nervous. “You and I, Peter, we need to stay together. We need to be strong together.”

“No we don’t,” Peter said. He got to his feet, drew his wand, and didn’t take another step. “We’ve never been strong together. You’ve been strong, and I’ve been weak, together. I won’t go back to that.”

There was a long silence, as the two of them looked at each other, neither wavering.

“You know I love you, son,” Arthur said, a tear running down his face. “And you know that if you don’t come with me, we may never see each other again. Never write. Never speak.”

“I know,” Peter said. He was not crying. It took everything in him. “But that’s your fault. Not mine.”

Peter had never seen someone else travel away by Portkey. The bottle opener sparkled, for a moment, and then pulled his father in like a miniature whirlwind, sucking all the air of the room in with him.

In the moment before he blurred into nothingness, Peter could see his father starting to say one last thing.

He wondered whether it was an apology.

But he knew it probably wasn’t.

When the Ministry broke down the door 20 minutes later, they found Peter lying on the ground in the middle of the room, wand halfway to the kitchen where he’d tossed it away, sobbing into the carpet like he’d never stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger?! Nooooooooooo...
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this series through two installments! I'm currently hard at work on a threequel that'll wrap up all the outstanding threads from So Darned Sorry -- and finally set James, Sirius, Remus and Peter on the path to officially becoming the Marauders we know and love... for better and for worse.
> 
> Watch this space to find out what happens... "When The Bubble Bursts!"


End file.
